The House of Wolves
by Tupper
Summary: MWPP fic. A fifth house lurks under the cheery exterior of Hogwarts; a dangerous secret society that, in its pursuit of power, will manipulate and tear to get what it wants...namely, James. *complete*
1. Hushed Tones

Hi! I'm Tupper. You might remember me from such other fics like _Bertie Bott's Beans—The Magical Fruit and the hit musical _Alohomora This._ (Note: these are fictional fictions—they do not exist. If you read this and then go checking for them anyway…I pity you. Have a Bertie Bean.) Actually, this is my first Marauders fic (I know that some nitpicky folks argue that it's the __map being referred to and not the actual trouble-makers of Hogwart's disco days [In which case I humbly disclaim both.]) I don't really care._

In any case, this will be fairly serious in some parts and fairly stupid in others. The good kind of stupid, if there is one.

This chapter is brought to you by courtesy of the Dizzy Whizbees—an almost-no-profit organization dedicated to helping victims of vertigo.

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_Biagra: Spice up your love life with the Love Potion #69! Minors, pretend you didn't understand that._

The House of Wolves

The cozy Gryffindor room, with the cheerful fire throwing warm glows on happily chatting students in plush armchairs, was one of sanctuary; where a haggard student could rest after a long day's sleeping in various classrooms, their own snores waking them up just briefly enough to jot down a few notes before falling asleep again.

It was also the perfect plotting place. Peter was relaxed in the oversized chair, not really realizing that he was slowly sinking into it. This particular chair had somewhat of an infamous reputation for swallowing students whole and spitting them back out covered in stuffing fluff. The other Marauders didn't bother to tell him—he'd figure it out soon enough.

The three in mention had their heads bowed over a piece of parchment, whispering. Occasionally snatches of conversation like "No, no, he's only mildly allergic to that—let's try lobsters" and "Speaking of flea collars, Remus—ow!" would drift across to the other students poring over textbooks. They would look up, sigh, and wish that it was them. Peter was content to wallow in his chair—although it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep posture; what a strange feeling—and listen. He couldn't always follow them anyway.

James shook his head. "It won't work without a distraction."

Remus frowned, uneasy with the look James was suddenly giving him. "I'm not doing something like that again."

Sirius sniggered. "Really, Remus—no one knew you could play the ukulele and dance the hula like that. That one belly dancer girl even came up and told you how graceful that was, remember?"

"That was Professor Parka."

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. It worked, didn't it?"

Remus glanced at him, unsure of his sanity. "I'm not doing it."

"Doesn't matter," James said airily. "I've wanted to call my favor from Peeves for a while now. He owes me for the thing with the parrots." 

Further discussion was cut as it was time for dinner; the students in the common room filed out of the portrait hole. James and Sirius winked simultaneously at the Fat Lady as they exited, causing her to blush and fervently smooth her dress.

"She's a bit old for you, isn't she?" Peter commented. The two didn't answer, but merely grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. James reached a hand up to his hair and scrubbed it, making the hair stand on end more than ever. Peter looked enviously at him. James and Sirius always seemed to be in the spotlight, and everyone knew it—girls stared admiringly, boys wanted to be in their inner circle.

The Great Hall was as bright as ever, with the thousands of candles suspended motionless in the air—a real fire hazard, Peter had thought, if they ever fell—under a still light sky. They all sat down at their usual seats and grabbed anything within reach, Sirius especially—he hadn't been able to eat that morning, what with their latest experiment of voice modifying. They had successfully changed his voice to sound exactly like Bolly Berkin's nasal whine, but had somehow managed to shrink his stomach, along with his ears.

The Marauders chatted among themselves, occasionally holding conversations with whoever was fortunate enough to be within speaking range of them. Most of it, this time, was further congratulations in regards to James, who had assisted the Gryffindor team in slaughtering the Slytherins the previous Saturday.

Remus, with some interest, noted that James was not responding to the compliments with his usual enthusiasm. Instead, he was eating edgily, sneaking moody looks across the table. Remus turned slightly and saw that James was looking at a boy from the Ravenclaw table; who he recognized but didn't know the name of. The boy was leaning in to talk among his friends, but more like he was whispering in class than talking freely at lunch. Every so often the boy would turn and shoot a glance over at where the Marauders sat. Remus turned to James.

"Friend of yours?" he asked lightly.

James frowned and stirred his mashed potatoes. "He wishes."

All through dinner, the boy—and then the group included—continued their unnerving gait, whispering and then staring pointedly at James. He slunk lower in his seat and became increasingly irritable. It was only until after dinner ended—and James had made a rude gesture with his hands at the offending boys—that he lightened up and went back to his old self. He and Sirius were happily plotting away, still intent on using Remus' ukulele abilities for a distraction. After a bit, the poor boy decided he was too tired to argue and just sat back watching (carefully avoiding the Eating Chair). Sometimes Blotter (as sometimes Black and Potter were called, seeing as they were nearly inseparable) were more entertaining than a book.

"Professor Parka winked at you during dinner, Moonshine," Sirius announced to him. "I think that's why she's been caking on the lipstick lately. We'll have to check your collar every night, now." James nodded solemnly.

"We must protect you from corruption," he said gravely. "We're the only bad influences you're allowed to have."

"Speaking of bad influences," Sirius mused thoughtfully, "I think Peeves has been trying to outdo us. The first-year snotrags are more frightened of him than they are us."

James looked indignant. "We can't have that. Tomorrow, we terrorize."

"Agreed."

Remus thought briefly about arguing, but then decided against it, as he figured that the approaching redhead would be more than willing to do it for him. Lily Evans marched up, dark red hair tossed over her shoulder. "You are _not going to bludgeon first-years," she snapped._

James looked mystified. "No?"

"No, you won't. I can't _believe_ you'd try to frighten first-years. Get a kick out of tormenting anybody smaller than you, do you?"

Blotter was deeply affronted.

"I don't see how you could say that," Sirius said. 

James nodded. "This is about territory, Evans."

Lily scowled. "You're just as bad as all those Slytherins you hate—you know that, right?"

"It's impossible to sink to their level," James sneered. The argument had gotten the attention of several students, and they hung on to every word. Some nodded in agreement. "I could do so much worse."

Lily's hand dropped down to her pocket, where her wand was. "I don't care. You're not going to do anything to them—clear?" Her voice was threatening and Peter quailed, willing himself to be invisible.

"Opaque," said Sirius. "Go away, Evans." Blotter resolutely turned their backs on Lily, who fumed for a minute, and finally gave an exasperated sigh and angrily walked away. 

Remus tried to hide a smile with little success, and Peter was looking even more admiring that Blotter could stand up to that death-gaze of Lily's. "You know, Prongs," Remus said pleasantly, "it's going to be difficult to convince her to go out with you when she hates the ground you walk on."

"She'll come around," James said easily, and he and Sirius turned back to their work.

The next morning came with fresh sunlight and fresh ideas. Remus was used to the daily bursts of creativity from Blotter, relating pranks that they had pulled in their dreams. Every morning seemed to bring up something even more bizarre than the day before.

The same gaggle of students from the day before were speaking in hushed tones when the Marauders entered the slowly filling hall. They nodded at James as he passed, who pretended that they didn't exist. He kept on marching to the Gryffindor table, and stared determinedly down at his plate, as though fascinated by all the little shapes in the pancake syrup. He distracted himself by magically drawing a syrupy caricature of Snape on his stack of pancakes, and then calmly proceeding to eat them (starting with the head). This brought a good hoot of laughter from the table and James grinned, not having realized he was being watched by them.

Lily Evans, of course, looked like she was seriously considering hexing him. James noticed and stuck out a syrupy tongue—a bit childish, but it served the purpose. Sirius looked over James' shoulder and saw that one group, still conversing and casting looks at them. Sirius nudged James and said in a low voice, "There's your fan club again. Don't they ever let up?"

Remus was mildly surprised. Normally James wasn't that hostile towards attention—most of the school adored him.

"Who are they?" he asked curiously. James hesitated to begin, like he wasn't quite sure how to phrase it—Remus had seen that look many times, when James had had to give half-truths in regards to pranks. It happened quite often, actually, whenever he didn't want to fully reveal his plans to a curious student.

"They're off their rockers," said James finally. "Insane. I'd rather have afternoon tea with Snape than hang out with them."

Remus whistled. "That bad? But if you think that, why haven't you said anything?" A few places down the table, he noticed Lily listening closely, surprise evident on her face. Remus couldn't blame her—for all Blotter pulled on Snape, one would think that they'd do worse to someone they despised more. 

Blotter exchanged dark looks. Finally, Sirius said, "They're nuts, that's why. Wacko. Loopy. I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole."

"…And you would Snape?"

"No, I'd wallop him with one."

James grinned, the frown vanishing in an instant. "Ah, but remember the cardinal rule: never knock him out. He won't be conscious to enjoy the fun." Sirius nodded in whole-hearted agreement.

"Well said." Further down, Lily snorted into her goulash. Sirius tossed her a disdainful look. "Although knocking one out would certainly shut them up, right James?"

James followed his glance. His grin widened when he saw Evans there, ignoring him. "Absolutely, Padfoot, or you could be creative." Lily turned to talk to other friends half-heartedly. "Her life is no fun without us," James whispered conspiratorially. "We put her in stride. If we didn't, who else would? She _needs us."_

"That's an interesting view, James," Remus said dryly. "If you ever point that out to her, do it far away from me." He dug into his omelet with a gentleman's approach, watching James out of the corner of his eye. The boy was indiscreetly stealing looks again at the group that irritated him so much. For the life of him, Remus couldn't figure out why—they weren't Slytherins, who were pretty much the only ones James ever had problems with. He had always gotten on well with Ravenclaws—wait.

Remus squinted a bit, and recognized one member of the group. In the midst of Ravenclaws was a Slytherin, one that Remus only knew because the other had a reputation for being even surlier than the rest of his house. Oriol Morris, his name was. He did well in Divination and nothing else; and he only did well in that one class because he had an uncanny ability for predicting gruesome deaths by curses Remus had never heard of before.

Peter was watching them too. His stabbed pancakes, halfway to his mouth, were forgotten as he watched. Like Remus, Peter had never seen James with such a strong dislike for someone that he never even seemed to ever encounter. The Marauders had been friends since the beginning of first year, but neither Remus nor Peter had ever seen those boys around James. Sirius didn't seem surprised—Peter stole a look. Sirius was plainly not paying attention to the gaggle, whether he knew them or not. All of his attention was focused on his Belgian waffle.

"Hey, Prongs," he said, struck with a Sudden Thought, "ever wondered if it's possible to swim in syrup?"

James turned back to him. "Who hasn't? Got an idea?" he said, a familiar mischievous glint in his eyes.

Sirius twiddled his fork. "Well, I've never tried it myself, and I'm not particularly keen to try first. Perhaps Snivellus might be willing to help?" He deliberately ignored Lily's outraged glare. James looked mildly impressed.

"I believe he might. In fact—I do think the entire Slytherin house might want to join in. Who doesn't want a swimming pool in their common room?" James asked reasonably. Lily sputtered, not believing what she just heard.

"_Sane people, that's who!" she snapped. _

"Exactly," Sirius said smoothly. "That's why we're giving the Slytherins what they want—it's the honorable thing to do." Blotter nodded in unison. Lily looked murderous, and stood up abruptly.

"You do that, and I _swear_ one of the Professors will hear about it!"

One of her friends tried to nervously pull her down. "Come on, Lily—it's not like the Slytherins don't deserve it." She flushed as Blotter flashed her dazzling smiles in thanks. Lily huffed and sat back down, still glaring daggers at Blotter. Peter swallowed hard and sank down in his seat—he'd always thought Evans was a bad one to get angry, but Blotter always went and did what they pleased. He thought Remus was right—no way was James _ever going to get her to agree to go on a date with him…_

Personally, James was glad for the distraction. Sometimes he poked at Lily simply because it was interesting to see her blow up, although Remus constantly reminded him not to poke dragons in the eye, and Lily was the human equivalent of a Hungarian Horntail. But this time, James wanted a distraction. He didn't show it, but he was becoming increasingly edgy. It had been two years; two years since they had really spoken to him. And now they were acting like they were actual friends with him; saying hello to him, nodding at him like there was some sort of understanding between them. James bit into a sausage. An understanding?

Like hell there was.

Peter wandered through the hall. It felt strange, really, with the other Marauders not being there; but they had finished breakfast before he did to go chase after Professor Parka for something. Peter was still hungry, so he felt that they'd understand. A growling stomach is a very convincing force, and not easily reckoned with. Peter patted it in satisfaction and ignored the fact that his robes were fitting a little more tightly than usual.

He was walking along one of the northern passages to Herbology when an arm draped itself around his shoulder. He turned his head, expecting to see one of his friends, but instead an unfamiliar face leered at him. Peter stared a minute before straining his memory and recognizing the boy as a member of the group that James had been annoyed with. Peter remembered the scowl that had been on James' handsome face and quickly adopted one too, hoping for the same intimidating effect.

Unbeknownst to him, Peter looked roughly like he was sucking on a lemon.

The boy considered, but chose not to comment on this and instead gave an unnerving smile. "Hey—it's Pettigrew, right?"

"Uh, yes," stammered Peter, his scowl twisted with confusion, "Peter."

"Well, hey, Peter," said the boy easily. "I'm Darby Magar."

"Uh…hi."

"Yeah, don't think we've hung out much. You're a sixth year too, right?" Magar asked. He had the air of one reading words off a cue card; not really meaning them, saying them simply for show.

"Yeah." Peter wasn't sure what else to say.

"And—you hang out with Potter, right?" Magar said this almost disbelievingly. He and everybody else had memorized James Potter's inner circle by heart, and like everybody else, he couldn't fathom why mousy Pettigrew was in it.

Peter nodded in understanding. "Look, if you want his autograph, I'm sorry; he won't give them out." He said this with the consistency of one who had the words memorized by heart.

Magar laughed. "No, I don't want his autograph. If I did, I'd have stolen his homework ages ago." He laughed again, and Peter suddenly felt at ease. He laughed too, timidly at first, and then growing in confidence. He could immediately tell that Magar was an easy person to laugh with. There was a friendliness in his voice that was very disarming.

"Say, some guys and I were thinking…" 

"We know," Peter said, still smiling. "James doesn't seem to like you that much." Magar was so easy to talk to. "Do you know him?"

Magar laughed that laugh again. "Sort of. But this isn't about him," he said grinning. Peter found himself grinning too. "This is about _you."_

Peter's smile faded ever so slightly. "Me?" he squeaked.

The other boy chortled at that, and Peter found himself doing the same without really knowing why. "Don't look so scared! You haven't done anything wrong!" he said, still chuckling. "Like I said, the guys and I were talking, and we were wondering…"—his grip around Peter's shoulder tightened almost uncomfortably—"if you wanted to join our club."

Peter's mouth worked, forcibly reminding one of a fish. He didn't notice Magar's charming smile falter a bit, as though he had seen something distasteful. "_Me?_" he squeaked again.

The smile returned. "Of course!" Magar beamed. "Don't sound so surprised! You're a pretty cool guy, you know." Peter straightened a little. Nobody had ever told him that. It felt good, even wonderful to be praised. "So, how about it?"

Peter was about to say yes, but decided with sudden clarity that he mustn't look too eager. He quickly adopted another one of James' expressions; one of casual interest. "What sort of club?" he asked.

"Oh, just a little get-together between friends," Magar said airily. Peter's heart leapt at the last word. "We do all sorts of things. Do you do well at Defense Against the Dark Arts?" he said suddenly.

Peter shifted. "No," he said. Magar was _so_ easy to talk to. Peter talked without thinking. "No," he said again, just in case Magar missed it.

Magar grinned. "Well, we'll help you then," he said. "We're all wizards at that class—No pun intended." Peter laughed rather louder than necessary. "We help each other out, see? A brotherhood of sorts." Peter surged with pride at this. "And we do want you to join. But," he added, "we understand if you want to think about it. How about meeting us this Saturday outside the library? We'll go over more with you about what we do."

"A—alright," Peter stuttered.

"It's a great club," the boy said enthusiastically. "And it's really hard to get into. In fact, most students don't even know about it. So, keep it under your hat for a while, right? We wouldn't want others to get jealous," he said in a sudden whisper. Peter nodded eagerly, but was struck with a thought.

"Not even James or Sirius?" he asked. "Or Remus?"

Magar hesitated, and uncertainty flashed before quickly being replaced with confidence. "Potter already knows about us," he said. "Sirius probably does too. That's why they're called Blotter, eh? They do everything together." He looked at Peter as he said this, as though asking him to confirm it. Peter nodded. Magar looked satisfied. "Look, just come yourself. If you really like it—and you will, really—you can get after them to join. But don't tell them about meeting this Saturday, okay? It's our secret."

Peter nodded emphatically. _I must have done something right,_ he thought. He hadn't felt this much a _part of something for as long as he could remember. It was like being in a Secret Society—not just anybody could get in! They had to be special!_

Magar smiled knowingly. 

"I won't tell them until after Saturday," Peter promised.

"Alright!" Magar cheered. "See you then!" His arm finally left the smaller boy's shoulder and he strode off whistling. Peter looked after him beaming. 

A secret club! Amazing! Peter smiled secretively to himself for a minute before realizing that the hallway was nearly empty. He hurried to the greenhouses, a wide grin plastered all over his face.

Alrighty. This will actually be much more serious later on, but there will still be some light-hearted touches along the way. And yes, Peter will have a big role in this fic, but most of it's about James. I love James! I'm trying to make him and the other Marauders true to the stuff revealed in the fifth book.

Please read and review!


	2. La Camera dei Lupi

Well, I didn't get as many reviews as I'd hoped for this fic's debut, but I digress—I wasn't expecting many anyway. 

This chapter is brought to you by the Magical Menagerie, which is fervently hoping that you take that damn parrot off their hands. No, seriously folks, the parrot's a riot. Take it.

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The House of Wolves

Blotter and Remus looked up as Peter made it just in time before the bell rang, looking for all the world like it was Christmas. The three stared as the mousy boy practically bounced over to where they sat, his cheeks flushed and proud.

"What's with you?" Sirius asked in bewilderment. "They have strawberry pancakes at the breakfast table?"

Peter was about to shake no, but then remembered what Magar said and nodded furiously. Sirius' eyebrows lifted—that had been a joke. He looked at Peter suspiciously, who was now avoiding their gaze and looking about with what almost looked like a superior, knowing expression; like he was the enlightened one in a greenhouse full of maggots. James poked him in the shoulder.

"The only other time I've seen that look was when he accidentally hexed Snape and everybody thought he did it on purpose." James grinned suddenly. "Although I must say, lurid pink horns suited him quite well. Come on Wormtail, spit it out."

"Strawberry pancakes," came the timid reply.

Blotter rolled their eyes. "Whatever," said Sirius, catching the eye of a pretty girl at the table to their right. He winked at her and she blushed heavily. James smirked. Remus cast a suffering look to the heavens.

"Cheers, Remus," said James. "You could be in worse company."

Remus chuckled. "James, if I'm judged by the company I keep, I'm already screwed," he said dryly. James laughed but couldn't argue. He snuck a look out of the corner of his eye to the table, where Lily Evans was listening raptly to Professor Bloom just beginning the lesson. Beside her, Sally Sprout was stiff as a beanpole with attention. James shook his head. 

"Brownnosers," he said.

Peter, who had been staring off into space with an odd look on his face, suddenly snapped to the present. "Oh, I don't know. They've got rather pale skin."

The other three stared at him disbelievingly. 

"Mr. Potter," said Bloom suddenly, her scratchy voice booming over the assembled heads, "I'm glad to see you're paying attention. Can you tell me the best way to collect melidew from a Shrouded Cactali?"

"Put it near heat," James said promptly. "The plant sweats the melidew out."

Bloom's mouth worked, and then she awkwardly continued her lecture—an irritable old woman with a frazzled afro, she had been dearly hoping to give someone detention so she could make them help her mulch the Biting Begonias. James turned back to the other Marauders. Peter had stopped daydreaming enough to stare at the boy in open admiration. Sirius rolled his eyes at the angry Lily Evans sitting across the greenhouse, and blew a raspberry. She stared a moment, obviously unsure of how to respond to that. She settled with giving a glare.

When the Shrouded Cactalis were passed round, one to every person, Sirius plucked idly at one of the leaves. The Cactali promptly spat in his face. The witnesses laughed and Sirius, never to let a joke go to waste, laughed along with them while wiping the green slime off his face.

"I hope that's poisonous," he heard Lily mutter. 

The only one not joining in the fun (aside from Lily—but it was fun just to poke at her) was Peter. Remus slanted him a look as he tactfully lit a small fire in an enclosed center of the table. "Something wrong?" he asked kindly. "You seem a little out of it, Peter."

Peter jumped and blushed. "I'm—um, thinking about our next prank," he said glibly, and much too loudly. Sirius and James immediately reached over the table and clapped their hands over his mouth.

"Shh!" James hissed. "Everyone knows we pull them, but they can't prove it unless you squeal!"

Peter looked horrified. "Sorry," he mumbled through the fingers. "I donf fink anyfody heard."

Blotter relaxed and pulled their hands away. A Cactali had been sneakily snaking a vine up Sirius' robes. He slapped it and the vine quickly retracted. "Wait in line."

Remus and James snorted and went on with their work, oblivious to Peter, who was once again staring out one of the greenhouse windows with a hungry anticipation.

At lunch there was no more whispering from the group huddled near the Ravenclaw table. Magar nodded discreetly at Peter. James, thinking the gesture was aimed at himself, snorted in disgust and marched by without dignifying Magar's existence. Peter followed meekly, having misgivings for the first time.

Should he tell James? Peter slouched low in his seat and willed himself to turn invisible. It was a strange feeling, going and doing something behind his friend's back, but Peter couldn't resist—it was a chance to be part of something _bigger_. But James would understand if he knew, wouldn't he? Peter seriously doubted this. James usually didn't give a skrewt's ass about stupid people making bad decisions, but if he really thought that Magar's group was a nasty lot, Peter knew James would warn him.

He looked at James laughing with Sirius over something and Remus shaking his head good-naturedly. _They_ would have told. Peter felt a twinge of guilt and couldn't muster up the appetite to eat his green beans—he was such a bumbling boy, and the rest of the Marauders had been kind enough to adopt him into their circle when so many kids (all much more popular than Peter) had tried and failed.

But the more he thought about it, the more confident Peter got. The guilt shrank away, angry and resentful, to lurk in a corner of his mind, to be replaced by eagerness and a sort of dazed excitement. Peter's hand trembled as he handled his fork. _A secret society…_ His lips stretched wide. He didn't dare to look at Magar lest James suspect something. 

_I'll just meet him Saturday and see what it's all about, Peter thought trying to pacify the lingering shadow of doubt. _No harm there.__

He dug into his beans with renewed vigor.

"Yahtzee!" Sirius cried happily from his seat. "Who says Muggle games aren't any fun?"

Saturday came quickly. The guilt was now a passing memory. Anticipation settled there with a pleasant weight, like a child expecting ice cream. Peter willed himself to not look too eager. He wanted to seem mature and sophisticated—after all, not just _anybody_ was invited to the club, Magar said. They had to be special. Peter was special.

When it came time for him to meet Darby Magar, Peter had to constantly slow down from running in the hallways. If he kept going like this, he would be ten minutes early—couldn't have that! He needed to be fashionably late—but not so much that they wouldn't think he wasn't interested. Peter stopped completely and to stall, closely examined a suit of armor. He had seen the suit a thousand times before and it had never held any sort of fascination for him before—and didn't now—but to anyone else it looked like Pettrigrew was peering professionally at every crack.

After exactly five minutes and forty-two seconds Peter decided that that was good enough, and hurried the rest of the way with a small skip in his step. He was pleased to note that when he finally arrived at the designated spot, he was approximately four minutes and sixteen seconds late and Magar was already there. Peter's small smile faded as he saw the impatient look on Magar's face as the boy tapped his foot against the stone floor.

He looked up as Peter approached and the frown quickly vanished with a smile, so fast that it seemed like the scowl had never been there at all. He went up to shake Peter's hand. "Glad you could make it," he enthused. "A little late, that's fine; but if you join, we like our members to be on time."

"Sorry," Peter mumbled. "I got lost." He cringed inwardly—that was worse than being 'fashionably late.'

With his gaze turned to the floor, Peter didn't notice the other boy sneer in distaste. "Come on," said Magar. "I'll show you the lot." He winked. "They only bite once."

_So do werewolves, a nagging voice in Peter's head said. He shoved it away and followed Magar down the hallway, trying very hard to look like he hadn't walked down it a thousand times._

The boy led him through several corridors until finally resting in front of a rather grotesque gargoyle. "Harlequin," said Magar clearly. The gargoyle suddenly sprang to life. Stone muscles rippled and the gargoyle stared balefully at Peter before reluctantly stepping aside, hissing at the mousy boy while he passed. As soon as the two went in, the stone beast eased back into place to glare at passerby.

Peter whimpered slightly as he walked through the dark passageway, lit only by Magar's wand tip. Peter didn't even think to light his own. He tripped over stairs and stumbled down steep descending halls. 

It seemed like an eternity before they stopped at level ground. Moisture dripped from cracks in the stone above his head—they were very far down, even below the dungeons. A dank musty smell invaded Peter's nose, and in some spots was so strong that it made his eyes water.

"Just a bit farther," Magar's voice came floating back to him. "All right there, Peter?"

"Sure," said Peter, who was flatly lying. He was enormously relieved when at last Magar stopped—Peter couldn't tell until he ungracefully ran into the boy—in front of a door, framed with writing barely illuminated by the dim light of Magar's wand. Magar waved at it.

"No one really knows what it says," he explained. "Yatcher Harley thinks it's a curse, but nobody's grown an extra head yet." He laughed and Peter nervously did the same, not really seeing the joke but going along with it anyway.

Magar pushed the door open and Peter followed, and took in the scene.

They were in a great stone dungeon; enormous, bigger even than the Great Hall. Peter had no doubt that a full game of Quidditch could be comfortably played in there. Everywhere he looked, there were painstakingly carved runes and symbols framing the frowning mouths of ancient gargoyles.

All in all, it was rather like a giant crypt.

The only thing that looked recent was a large silk banner draped from an overhanging on the far wall, visible even to Peter standing on the other side of the massive dungeon. A wolf's snarling, lean form was silhouetted in silver against a sold black background. Beneath the wolf, written in spidery silver letters, was _La Camera dei Lupi_.

"The House of Wolves," Magar explained upon seeing Peter's curious gaze. "That's our mascot."

Peter blinked. "'House'?"

_ Magar led Peter down the dungeon. Several members were already there, milling around and laughing with each other, looking at the two out of the corners of their eyes. Peter tried to square his shoulders like James and Sirius always did. Magar talked while they strolled down the floor._

"This house is nearly as old as Hogwarts itself," he said proudly. "It's not a club, not really…it's hard to explain." He thought for a moment. "Have you ever felt like you didn't really belong in Gryffindor, Peter?"

"Everyday," mumbled the boy.

"Excellent," laughed Magar. "We know exactly how you feel. Each member here disagrees with the house they were placed in—in fact, every one of us don't really see a single one of the original houses that we'd really fit in. Do you know why that is, Peter?"

"No," said Peter honestly.

"It's because we're too good for all of them. We are the elite, Peter; we are the few that are bogged down by the flimsy expectations of our Houses. We are better than the rest; each of us possesses the traits of every house. That's why our mascot is a wolf—wolves are cunning, sagacious, brave and painfully honest: if they don't like you, they bite you." Magar winked. "Lupi is the House of the chosen few." He waved a hand at the assembled students. Peter recognized a few of them. "They all have a place here."

Peter nodded politely before Magar's words fully sank in. When they did, Peter's heart nearly stopped.

Chosen few? Did that mean that _he_, Peter, the awkward, clumsy boy who was just lucky enough to be friends with James Potter and Sirius Black (both of which weren't even in the house!) was an elite? Peter breathed lightly, as though afraid that any more would send the thought away on a breath of wind. An elite…Peter mulled the word over, and decided that he definitely like the sound of it. Peter the Great…it really had a ring to it.

They continued down the dungeon floor until they came to the middle of the room. A long, old stone table large enough to easily seat fifty or more was resting there. Ornate chairs were lined up on each side, and one solitary seat more intricately gilded than the rest sat alone at one end. Each chair was embossed with silver letters that matched the silk banner. Only one chair was missing letters.

"Each chair has a member's name," said Magar.

"So," began Peter hesitantly, "what is it that, er, Lupi actually does?"

Magar seemed to pick his words carefully before speaking. "Well, we practice magic," he said. "That stuff we learn in class is lame. We find out the _real spells they won't teach us."_

"Why?"

The boy hesitated again. "Because we're waiting."

"For what?" Peter was a little apprehensive.

"For when our time comes," said Magar, no longer smiling. "We are the house of Lupi, Peter. We are the elite, the great—we are the future, the leaders of the future; we are the New Generation. All those other poor saps here cannot possibly comprehend how insignificant they are to the big picture. We are the world's future. Those who aren't are idiots living in a voluntary delusion. We see reality as the way it is: there are only the strong and the weak. We are the strong."

Peter felt strange hearing these words, but was oddly unbothered: everything Magar said made sense. Yes, everybody else was foolish and not as good. Lupi was a house unbroken by differences—there were Gryffindors there, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and even Hufflepuffs. They worked together in unity towards a common goal. It was a brotherhood.

Magar watched the expressions flitting across Pettigrew's face as though he were reading a book. He knew exactly what the boy was thinking. Magar's lips stretched in a thin smile as another boy approached them. 

"This is Shiloh Shanks," Magar said, shaking Peter from his reverie. "He's the vice president."

Shanks had the look of one who would have been handsome if his lips were not frozen in a permanent leer, and if he combed his hair once in a while. It didn't have the casual charm of James' messy trademark mop, but rather a jungle that suggested Shanks had just been caught from the sewers and had never used a comb nor even knew what a comb was. He had the narrow eyes of one who always looked over his shoulder.

Peter shook the boys hand with a weak grip. Shanks noted this but said nothing. If anything, his leer intensified.

"A pleasure," he drawled.

Magar was looking behind them. "And this," he announced, "is our President. Peter Pettigrew, meet Daniel Vargas." He spoke with a sudden formality like the Minister of Magic had suddenly appeared before him.

Daniel Vargas looked Peter over appraisingly. "The new guy, eh?" He sounded confident that Peter would join by the end of five minutes. Vargas had the lean form of a predator—graceful and deadly—and his eyes sparkled with a veiled amusement akin to a hunter looking at his helpless prey. "Nice to meet you," he said. His voice was low and smooth. "I have no doubt that you'll feel comfortable here. That is, if you wish to join?"

"I do," Peter said immediately, not caring how eager he sounded. His mind was filled with images of himself, standing high above those that teased him, with James and Sirius looking on admiringly, wishing they could be him. This was perfect for him—he had never been so appreciated, so seen for what he really was.

"Splendid," Vargas said briskly. He waved his wand absently. A silvery vapor emerged from the tip and drifted lazily over the stone table and to the empty chair with no name on it. The mist solidified and embossed itself on the chair, slithering like a snake to form letters.

_Peter Pettigrew was written in silver._

"Welcome to Lupi," said Vargas.

This chapter wasn't as long as I planned, but whatever. Yes, I know there was a lot of Peter in this, but James will be largely featured in the next chapters. This is basically about him, plus it reveals a little more about Peter's character. Plus, I do believe that there might be a little James/Lily coming up sometime, and lots of danger. 

Please review! I'll continue anyway, but it's always nice to hear from any readers. If you've got any questions or whatever, leave them in the review or e-mail me with them. My e-mail's on my bio page.

More up soon!


	3. Revalation from a Rat

Hi again :) Uh, I know that the last chapter mainly featured Peter, but there's going to be much James goodness from now on 'cause he's my favorite. :) And yes, there will be eventual James and Lily romance—as much romance as you can initially get from a girl that really, really hates a guy and would chuck him off a cliff into a river of hungry crocodiles. 

This chapter is brought to you by the friendly folks at Zonko's, who are horribly outclassed by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and are currently considering slashing their throats—or the Weasleys', whichever comes first. Probably the latter.

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_Angry Bullocks: a kick in the stomach with every bite!_

The House of Wolves

The next morning, Sunday, was nice and sunny to match Peters' mood. He didn't even feel guilty the night before heading back towards the dormitory to face the Marauders and make up an excuse for being absent Saturday afternoon; he was of a clear conscience and was sure that James would understand—he was the most popular guy in school, wouldn't he want his friend to be too?

Peter awoke Sunday morning and lazed in bed for twenty minutes, allowing the line of sunlight to inch along his sheets as the watchful eye slowly climbed up the sky. Beside him he heard the soft snores of Remus as he snoozed with his honker planted firmly in his pillow in a rare childish moment. Then—a resounding howl as James and Sirius double-teamed and bombed fluffy ammo right on his head. 

The pillows hit with a thud and with lightning reflexes Remus snatched them and hurled them back, effectively catching Blotter full in their faces and throwing them back on the floor. James and Sirius roared with laughter and Remus, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, chuckled along and then promptly fell back into his sheets. James and Sirius looked at each other and nodded solemnly. They walked round to the side of Remus' bed and heaved the mattress up. 

The boy tumbled ungracefully to the floor in a tangled heap of sheets and Blotter howled with laughter. Remus sighed and poked his head out from under a sheet.

"Something urgent that you fancy I should get up for?" he asked dryly, seeing that the pair was already fully dressed.

"The Quidditch game's right after breakfast," James said severely. "We must motor for some fuel and then take cheap shots at the Slytherin team—we find that they play so much worse when they're paranoid." He made a face, remembering last time he had offered words of wisdom. "Like I really would have rigged Bludgers to explode on impact—that's amateur."

"Completely," Sirius agreed. "Turning the team all into ladies was a _much better idea, and it went over quite well with the rest of the school." He and James grinned. James looked at the mass of blankets under which Peter was curled up. James hefted a pillow up and lightly tossed it to where he figured Peter's head was, provoking a grunt. The pillow rolled off and onto the floor. James picked it up again and calmly proceeded to wallop Peter 'round the head._

"Come on, Wormtail. Good times a 'waiting."

Peter got up rubbing blearily at his eyes much like Remus had, and wondered briefly where the two got their energy from. James nodded when he was satisfied that Peter was getting dressed and strode over to the door to wait. The wonderful thing about weekends was that it wasn't necessary to wear the hot robes they donned during the school week, especially on a gorgeous autumn day, one of the last few warm days of the year.

Finally the boys were all ready. They strode down the hallways, and as James passed, several people called out to him, laughing and joking with him. First years looked up in open astonishment that they were really getting so close to the most popular boy in school. James walked confidently. Peter watched admiringly—James never ever tripped or made a fool of himself in front of others—if Peter could somehow _be_ him, just for one day.

They walked into the Great Hall, where many students were already milling around, chattering excitedly about the match that afternoon. Several called to James, asking him what he thought Ravenclaw's chances were. Only one group was not joining in on the banter.

Darby Magar looked up as the Marauders passed, James ignoring him as usual and Remus throwing a cursory look. "Hello, Peter," said Magar, nodding. "We'll see you later?"

Magar's head bowed down as James whirled around. His eyes were wide as he stared at Peter. "How do you know him," he said. It wasn't a question.

Magar's head popped back up. "Is it so offensive that Peter have friends outside your little clique?" he asked pleasantly, and walked away.

James waited until they were all seated at a sparsely occupied end of the Gryffindor table before snapping. "Don't tell me," he said dangerously. "Just don't tell me that you joined their damn cult." His hazel eyes were narrowed like an angry cat.

"It's—it's not a cult," Peter said timidly, shrinking. Was it okay to tell them? He figured it might be—Magar had openly addressed him in front of his friends. Why would he if he didn't want Peter to say?

"I _told_ you," James snapped. "I said that they were a bunch of crackpots. Why'd you go and join them?"

Peter trembled. James had never really been angry with him, and now he knew that he didn't want James to ever be. The boy had a fierce glint in his eyes. "They're…not crackpots," he said. "Darby's really nice; he showed me what they did, it didn't look strange at all—"

"That's just a stupid ruse to rope you in!" James shouted. "Good Lord, Peter, how dense _are_ you? I _told you about them, I _warned_ you! They're not the sort of people you should hang around!" Not that the Marauders were the best influences. _

"What's so bad about them? They seemed really nice…"

James threw up his hands. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" he said in exasperation. "It's a front. They're just going to swallow you and spit you back out once they've stripped you of everything you're worth." From the angry tone, it was evident that James didn't think that Peter was worth all that much at the moment. He was clearly shocked and angry; an expression of struggling disbelief could be seen, shock that his own trusted friend would go behind his back.

Peter cowered. He practically worshipped James, and the last thing he wanted was for him to be upset with Peter. "How…how do you know?" Peter mumbled. "You're—you're not in the club…"

James paled a bit. "I just know, Peter. I know a lot more about them than you do, and I'm positive that you're getting in way over your head."

"What—you don't think I can handle them?" Peter retorted. James, Sirius and Remus were taken aback—Peter had never raised his voice to his idol. 

James looked surprised for only a moment before his face slid back into the aggressive expression it had before. "You're an idiot," he said flatly. "You're a damn fool—I gave you more credit than that, Peter."

Peter said nothing. His momentary bravado faded quickly and left him weak and cowardly.

James was quiet for a moment. Then, "I advise you to get out of it." His voice was soft. "For your own sake. But if you dig yourself in deeper, I'm not pulling you out." He stood up, appetite forgotten, and started out for the door. Sirius shot Peter a swift glare as he went to follow, grabbing a biscuit on his way out. Remus also gave him an unreadable look and got up as well. Peter stared at their retreating backs. Unbeknownst to him, so was a certain redhead. When Peter averted his gaze, Lily Evans got up and left.

Peter mulled around in silent thought, suddenly feeling very alone at his end of the table. He felt the presence before he heard the voice.

"They are afraid, Peter," Magar said softly. "Remember, you are one of the elite. James is not. He is jealous, Peter…"

James stormed out onto the grounds. He had held his tongue well enough in the Great Hall, but had left early as he didn't think he could last another dim-witted remark from Pettigrew before he exploded. But now, with few students yet out on their way to the Quidditch pitch, he was free to yell.

"Just who the hell does he think he is?!" he snapped. "That bloody idiot. Another moment there and I was going to sock him."

Sirius and Remus struggled to keep pace with his furious stride. "Well, James—you didn't really explain yourself," Remus said reasonably.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"'I just know'? Come on, James. You told Sirius when it happened; you didn't have to tell me, I already figured as much—Peter didn't know—"

"He doesn't _have_ to, Remus!" James raged. "He should have trusted my judgment! I wouldn't have said all that if it weren't true!"

"Peter, well—he doesn't exactly _understand_ things, James…" Remus' tone was apologetic. "Not to his offense, but sometimes he's rather slow on the uptake. He can't know unless you tell him, James. He still has absolutely no idea how you know anything about the Lupi House. He hasn't even _suspected_."

James' anger subsided. "Yeah…" he mumbled. "That doesn't give him an excuse though."

"Well, it's not too late to get him out."

"Why would you?" demanded a voice from behind them. The trio turned around and came face-to-face with Lily Evans with a scowl vacuum-sealed to her face. "I don't believe you, James Pleiades Potter."

"How'd she find out your middle name?" Sirius said in a loud stage whisper. Lily spared him a withering look and turned back to James.

"I don't see how you could be so jealous just because Peter's gotten into a club that hasn't invited _you_ in," she said scathingly. "You _could_ be happy for him, but no, you're not in it so no one else is allowed to be, is that right?"

"No," James shot back. "I'd be very happy if Snape joined them. And stop eavesdropping. This is none of your business."

"Potter, you're such a lousy git—"

"_You have no idea what they do!" James snarled, a sudden fire lighting his eyes. Lily took an involuntary step back as did Sirius and Remus. James rarely got this angry. "__You have no idea what the hell they're about! I'm being a good friend by pulling him out, Evans! This isn't about any damn ego trip!"_

Lily was quiet a moment. Then, "What do you mean, 'what they're about'?"

James frowned, considering his words, and seemed to dart a glance around the grounds. "They're not exactly poster children for Mental Health week," he said darkly. "They've got this monster superiority complex." Before Lily could wryly interject about James' complex, he continued. "It's this whole campaign for them—they're wacko, Evans. Obsessed with Dark Arts stuff. They call themselves the 'elite'."

"_Dark Arts?_" 

James nodded.

Lily gave him a strange, measuring look. "How do you know all this?" she said slowly.

James looked at her like she was daft. "They did ask me to join," he said cryptically. "Fourth year, two years ago. I refused; they won't stop badgering me." He said it unwillingly, like with every word he believed he was saying too much. "I tried to tell McGonagall. She believed me, but couldn't get proof—and I got Mackled Malaclaw slipped into my food." His face was gloomy.

Lily beetled her eyes. "You got what?"

"Mackled Malaclaw—sort of like lobster, but you don't want to eat it."

The redhead's eyes widened, lined with something akin to horror. "They _poisoned you?"_

James frowned. "Something like that," he said testily. "They weren't too happy that I'd tried to betray their little secret."

Lily tore her gaze from him to Sirius and Remus. "Did you know about this?" They nodded. Sirius didn't even make a smart crack. "Why not tell Peter?"

"Because he has the attention span of a gnat," Sirius said flatly. "Pretty words win him over too easily."

Lily showed no sign of having heard. Her gaze flickered unsteadily, and it slowly turned back to James, who was hovering apprehensively at Remus' shoulder. "You declined?" she asked, with no hint of emotion. "You refused to be an 'elite'?"

James nodded, unsure of where she was going. Evans gave him another one of her measuring looks like she wasn't sure what to think of him now. James squared his shoulders defensively—he had a pretty good idea of what was running through the girl's head.

So did Sirius, apparently. He managed a lopsided grin. "Don't you go thinking better of James, now," he said sardonically. "No matter what halfway humble thing he does, he's still an egotistical snot." James tossed him a glare, although there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Lily was still watching thoughtfully.

Remus bowed his head. "Sirius, not to get off track, but everyone says that you two are exactly alike. If he's a snot—"

"Why'd you refuse?" Lily asked suddenly. Remus broke off and Blotter stared.

"What?"

"Why'd you refuse? Why didn't you join them?" James shifted uncomfortably. "Didn't they say the same things to you that they did Peter?"

James' voice was hard. "More or less."

"What gave you the impression that they weren't…good?"

"Well, let's see," James said dryly. "Their lair's in a dungeon below the school with giant banners of wolves, students looking lobotomized, and cobwebs in every corner." His face clouded. "Plus, I get the feeling that what's-his-name, Derby—"

"Darby."

"Whatever. I think he was more straightforward with me than Peter, or else he'd be wetting his pants. Kirby—"

"Darby."

"—pretty much told me exactly what they did. And let's just say," James added nastily, "it wasn't pleasant. If a single member does something that upsets the Guild—their stupid set of rules and laws—they get a little taste of Middle Age punishment. It's a cult; the members were all like zombies. I was walking around expecting them to start chanting. Stupidly enough, they did."

James' face cleared. "Now, does that sound like the sort of thing you'd see in the Transfiguration club?" he said pleasantly.

"No," Lily mused. She didn't even pause to consider the fact that she and James Potter were having a civil conversation, albeit one about an evil cult. "How often have you tried to tell somebody?"

"Well, I told Sirius, and Remus figured it out before I got a chance. They tried to help me get proof to McGonagall. They've got the scars to prove it." The last part was added with a scowl. Sirius held up an arm. A thin white scar ran down from the elbow. Remus sported another one on his hand—Lily had never paid much attention, Remus had always had scars. But now…

She looked at him pityingly. "Were all your scars caused by the…cult thing?"

Remus blinked. "Er—yes." James and Sirius exchanged nervous looks.

Lily didn't notice—she was horrified and clapped a hand to her mouth. "I can't believe they'd do something like that," she breathed. "Have you talked to Dumbledore?"

Sirius shrugged, trying to pull her attention away from Remus, who was fidgeting uncomfortably. "No use 'till we get proof."

"But he's intelligent—he could figure a way to help."

"Professor McGonagall will have already told him," Remus said reasonably. "She believed us. Trust me—he's on it, he's even hinted to us. But the groups are covering their tracks; it's going to be hard to find anything incriminating."

"Could you lead him down to the dungeon where you said you were?"

"Tried," James said. He shook his head in frustration. "I was at the exact spot where the door had been. I don't think it opens for anyone who's not a member…" He trailed off. His head snapped up. "Anyone who's not a member," he said, a grin forming.

Remus got it first. "Peter."

He sat in the library, for lack of a better place to go. He didn't want to face James quite yet, not after making him so angry at lunch. Peter's lip trembled. He never liked to make James upset, he admired him more than anybody in the whole world, why couldn't he just see…

So absorbed in his worries, Peter didn't notice Darby Magar sliding easily into the seat next to him. When he did, he jumped, startled, knocking over his ink. Magar waved his wand lazily and the ink mopped itself up. Peter watched in fascination.

"They're going to try to convince you to help them," Magar said as though he was commenting on the weather. "They'll try to get you to lead them to the dungeon. But you won't do that, will you, Peter? Not after we trusted you, invited you into our brotherhood?"

"Of course not."

"Good," smiled Magar. "They will use strong words. Potter is gifted with wiling and manipulating; you will be tempted to follow him again. But he is not your better. You are _his._"

"Yes," said Peter, entranced.

"Good," the other said again. "In the meantime, I suggest you find a way to get to the meetings. You remember when they are, right?"

"Fridays at midnight," Peter said promptly.

"Yes. Any way you can get there without anyone noticing—I suggest you tell your friends that you are no longer in the club, Peter, so they are not tempted to lay awake and follow you."

Peter nodded, his mind already racing as Magar got up and left. He remembered something. The thought made him tremble in anxiety and fear—what would James say if he found out? He'd be furious, especially if he made the discovery after Peter had already lied to him about emancipating himself from Lupi.

But what were his priorities?

James was one of his best friends; he was rough on the edges, but sturdy, confident and dependable—the person Peter most wanted to be like; most admired. But Lupi was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This could shape his future. It could bring him power and status that he had never dreamed of; that he had never thought a lowlife like himself could grab. An elite, a leader. He had always dreamt of being as great as James, dare he think of being greater? Even stronger, even braver?

Loyalty. Greed. Ambition…

Peter made up his mind. Midnight meetings, going undetected? He knew how to do that.

He thought of what was buried at the bottom of James Potter's trunk.

So now we're moving along further into the actual plot of the story. I didn't get to the L/J romance in this chapter, but there will be some in the next, I think.

Anyway, please, please tell me what you think so far! Your comment and criticism make a load of difference.

In the next chapter, Lily has a private conversation with James, and there are some light-hearted moments.


	4. Unwelcomed News

Hi! Another chapter up. This will feature some Lily/James interaction and some ill-mannered jokes at the expense of Snape, who is horribly (and wonderfully) easy to poke fun at. Really, he just gives you so much ammo for creativity… :D 

Oh, and Pyro? Good point—you would think that the names of the 'bad guys' would be more sinister, but I purposely made them normal. After all, the 'bad guys' aren't 'bad guys', really; not in the open—after all, it's a secret society; anybody walking around Hogwarts is suspect—a classmate, dorm mate, anybody. Not just those with evil names. :)

This chapter is humbly brought to you by Comic Relief, guaranteed to make you laugh until your sides split and blow raspberries at you as you're carted to the hospital. But no, really, they're great people.

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_The Warlocks' Club: Generally, a place where old farts get together and tell glory stories that never really happened._

The House of Wolves

Peter had told them that'd he'd gotten out. He'd said that Magar wasn't too happy. He'd beamed, and then wilted as his friends sagged. They asked him if he was an actual member before he dropped out, and he'd said no—wasn't that what they wanted? They didn't say anything more, but their momentary optimism had deflated—no leading to the passage now.

Still, James and Sirius were hard-pressed to be put down easily. Within an hour they'd come up with a brilliantly clever and brilliantly dangerous idea—well, the cult problem wasn't going to go away, so they might as well fling poo at it. The solution was this—they were going to make the cult members' lives living hell.

While James and Sirius thought it was swell, Remus had his doubts—after all, they had a full prank schedule planned for that year, mostly nasty things to hex Snape with when he wasn't looking. Sirius cheerfully explained that they were going to simply transfer the jobs to new targets and let Snape have a free year and build his ammo back up—he was always so much more interesting was he was prepared, and even more so when he was positively spitting with rage after being foiled again.

Remus had other doubts as well. He was rather good at having doubts; they came naturally to him. This worry was slightly more pressing—after all, the Lupi members were not ones you wanted to moon on the good chance of having your buttocks blown off.

But in the long run, he'd had to go along with it; and didn't really mind all that much. He'd been itching to give Magar a taste of his Pucker Fish Powder—a clever little concoction that was so sour, that for an entire day one would go around with a squinched up, pained expression on their face. Of course, Remus had wisely broken this news to Blotter very carefully, calmly explaining to them that if they ever used the Powder on him, they would never have children.

Needless to say, they had taken the threat very seriously, and had also taken up the wise habit of wearing enforced jock straps, magically rendered to repel most threatening charms. Just in case.

Peter wanted nothing to do with their tricks. James, Sirius and Remus understood—in fact, they encouraged his emancipation from the prank pulling. Frankly, they were afraid that if Peter got involved, he would again be drawn in by Magar's pretty words and disarming smile.

While the three conspired in their corner, their heads bowed low over parchment, Peter sank into a chair on the other side of the room, listening in on a conversation of some seventh-years. His particular chair, while not carnivorous as the one near the Marauders was, had an odd habit of tickling his bum. Peter squirmed uncomfortably and at the same time fought to keep his face straight.

Terry Gallows was immersed in an animated conversation with Largo Ingles on the possibility of Severus Snape being a cross-dresser. While Terry had his doubts and stubbornly maintained that Snape was simply…feminine, Largo was rattling off instances where he'd seen Snape traipsing around in a dress when he thought nobody else was around. Though Terry was highly suspicious, Largo had been known to have actually seen bizarre things—McGonagall reading a dirty romance novel, Professor Parka giving one of the older male students a private lesson in belly dancing; he even saw Peeves the Poltergeist attempting to earnestly woo the Fat Lady.

"I don't know," Terry mused thoughtfully. "Whether he likes getting up as a girl or not, you'd think he'd have the brains to make sure no one's around…"

"You could say the same thing for McGonagall," Largo said, waving a hand around, "she borders on paranoid. But I didn't make up the slut book thing, did I?"

"No," Terry admitted reluctantly. "But Snape—I'm not defending him, mind, I'd be tickled if you got proof—he's got the nerves of a cockroach. A quick look 'round wouldn't satisfy him, and he'd never wear a dress when he wasn't positive that nobody was watching. I mean, why wouldn't he just grab a private bathroom stall, chuff on the dress and jiggle around for a few minutes?"

"'Cause then he'd be in the wrong bathroom," Largo insisted.

The students around him laughed, Peter included, thinking that James and Sirius would love the conversation. 

Speaking of the twins, they ambled over with Remus in tow, stowing away their various assorted parchments. Peter caught a quick look at one before it was stuffed into a bag—it had a complicated-looking potions recipe on it.

Blotter sat down on the carpeted floor. Largo grinned down at them from where he sat cross-legged in the chair. "What do you say, boys? Think Snape gets his high from dressing like Professor Parka?"

They didn't miss a beat. "Absolutely," said Sirius. "Without a doubt."

"Personally, I think he goes a bit farther than dressing. I'm _positive he shaves his legs," added James. "He and Parka probably share beauty tips."_

"Speaking of Parka," said Sirius, with a sudden gleam in his eyes, "didn't she come up to you yesterday?" Remus glared. "She said something about that hula dance you did for a distraction that one time—said you had the talent, but you needed to learn proper technique. Said she'd give you private tutoring, didn't she?" Remus frowned.

"She wouldn't be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher if she was unprofessional like that," he said defensively. 

"I'm not accusing her of being unprofessional or otherwise," Sirius said airily. "Certainly not otherwise. I just asked if she came up."

"Perhaps…"

Sirius and James grinned wickedly. "I think you should take her up on that private tutoring," James said. "Might be interesting. Make sure you get photos. Big, color ones that have her moving around a lot."

"Bouncing, if you can wrangle it," added Sirius.

Remus turned a beet red and another round of laughter rang out through the room. The portrait door opened just then and Lily Evans stepped through with some of her friends. She tossed a cursory look at the group lounging by the fire and turned away—but not before making eye contact with James. Lily looked pointedly at him and then to Peter, and James got it. He gave the slightest of nods and turned to laugh at a joke Largo had made at Snape's expense.

"Maybe we should get him fishnets for Christmas…" came James' voice drifting back to her. Lily forced down a grin and quickly turned it into a typical exasperated expression.

"I hate him," she added for good effect. Her friends looked satisfied.

Later, Lily was waiting outside the portrait door, just around a corner so the Fat Lady couldn't see. She was briskly examining her nails, one of which was chipped nearly halfway off as the result of a Potions class gone wrong. There were still some purple spots on her hand.

James came nonchalantly walking down the hallway, looking for all the world like he was off to tip the first domino of another series of events that would have Severus Snape cut himself shaving. He saw Lily and discreetly began walking toward her. Anyone watching would have expected a large slap to resound within the next five seconds, but no sound came and soon the two weren't there anymore. This would have certainly raised an eyebrow had anyone actually _been watching—but Mrs. Norris didn't know how to gossip, so she slunk away._

James ambled down a deserted corridor, hands jammed into his pockets. Lily had her arms crossed with hands tucked in her side. They walked in silence for a while until James finally broke the silence.

"Well, what's this about? I'm assuming that you didn't call me here to say what dashing good looks I've got," said James.

Lily had a ghost of a smile. "I don't lie."

James threw back his head and laughed. That was one of the things Lily never understood about him—he never seemed to mind when jokes were made at his own expense, as long as they were funny.

"No, seriously—why am I here?"

"Have you talked to Peter?" It was abrupt, and James blinked before replying.

"Yeah. It's no good," he shrugged. "It's nice that he got out and all, but it's a shame we can't get him to lead us to their common room now."

Lily was surprised. "He got out? When did he tell you?"

"Last week."

Lily's expression of surprise slowly darkened. "You sure?"

"Yeah…" James caught her look. "Why?"

She hesitated before answering, gauging James as if to anticipate his next words. "I saw him talking to Darby Magar yesterday in the library."

James stiffened. "You're sure it was him?"

"Positive."

James thought for a moment, grasping at straws. "Maybe…maybe Barbie—"

"Darby."

"—maybe he was trying to convince Peter to come back." James' voice was hopeful. Lily stopped for a moment and looked at him pityingly, wondering if he really believed that. Seeing his eyes, she shook her head.

"I've never questioned your attitude, Potter," she said, "but don't make me doubt your intelligence. How can you really say that? They were _talking, James, not arguing; they were holding a civilized conversation. Peter didn't even look angry; he was just nodding at everything Magar was saying." Lily stopped to suppress a shudder. "Like a puppet or something."_

James sagged. His eyes lost some of the sparkle that they usually always held. Lily found herself growing angry—he was just like all the other popular goons, thinking that every friend would stick by them even when something better came along. Every one of them never even considered the fact that their popularity was the only thing that tethered their friends to them—so naïve and stupid.

Her anger deflated at the lost expression on James' face.

He had trusted Peter with everything, everything about the Marauders. Suppose the little bastard told? Suppose he'd let slip about Remus being a werewolf, about the rest being Animagi?

He felt his face heating up with anger. "You're absolutely positive?" he asked one last time. 

Lily was startled from watching the sudden change of mood. "Yes…" Seeing James turn, she grabbed his arm, dropping it quickly when he turned around. "You can't just go barging in on him," she said. "You have to have finesse handling this."

James laughed hollowly. "Finesse? I don't do finesse. You know I don't do finesse."

"Well, you're going to have to learn," Lily said firmly. "It's about time you shoveled some social skills into that hothead of yours. This isn't the sort of thing that can be remedied by immediate confrontation—_you have to get proof. Peter might quail if you corner him, but what good's that going to do in the long run?"_

"A lot," said James seriously. "Peter knows things you don't, Evans. I won't tell you, but I'll say this: if he lets a word out, several unnamed persons are completely screwed. We _trusted_ him with things, we trusted that son of a—"

"James…"

"I'm _not_ kidding. Why do you think they asked him to join?"

Lily stopped and slowly paled. "I don't want to know."

"Well, I _know_. They asked me two years ago and I said no; now they're going after my _friend_." He spat out the last word. "Coincidence, Evans? I don't think so."

Lily took a deep breath. "They're not targeting you," she began placidly. "Why wouldn't they go after Sirius? He's your best friend."

"Which is exactly why they wouldn't try for him—he's loyal. So is Remus. Peter's apparently a different story," he added bitterly.

As Lily looked at him, she wondered what James could have possibly told Peter—the truth about some bloated prank, the secret key element that made it impossible for the boys to ever get caught when they were pulling something off? Something deeper, even? Somehow she didn't think James had confided just any secret in Peter—it had too be something huge, or else he wouldn't be so upset.

She felt a sudden stab of pity for him. For so long she had only seen his friends as admirers, and never as trusted companions. She supposed she should have realized—James spent more time with Sirius, Remus and Peter than with anybody else. They were always people that James could rely on; no matter how invincible he pretended to be, Lily should have realized that he couldn't depend on just himself.

"Well, let's just play this by ear," she said uncomfortably. "Don't tell Peter you know—after all, I guess I could be mistaken; he could really have been fighting Magar, maybe I was just reading it all wrong—"

"You weren't." The statement was flat.

"Even so," Lily sighed, "don't let it get to you—keep your head straight and maybe you'll land the Lupi goons in expulsion."

James suddenly looked at her with bright, appraisingly hazel eyes, as though he was looking into her head and analyzing what he saw. "Why do you suddenly care?" he asked, his voiced tinged with suspicion. 

"I don't!" Lily said indignantly. "Just because I'm trying to do the right thing doesn't mean I'm going to turn into any of your giggling floozies anytime soon." Her fiery tone made James grin lopsidedly despite himself.

"'Giggling floozies'?" he repeated, trying out the words. He laughed. "You could say they are—but they're funny to watch. You know what happens when you eat a strawberry in front of them?" He was really laughing now. "The looks on their faces! You say my mind's in the gutter, and their minds have never been out. That's grasping at straws, there!" He was gasping for breath. Lily was amazed at how his moods could change so fast. "Then they try to go for the same effect by eating a banana!"

Lily laughed before she could stop herself, and quite as suddenly as she started, shocked at herself. James didn't notice; he was cackling like Peeves dropping Dungbombs on first-years.

"Er—I'd better go," she said hesitantly. Strange—part of her wanted to stay and laugh some more. James swiped a hand at his eyes and looked at her. "Don't do anything stupid, alright?" she continued.

James sobered a bit but still waved merrily at her as she hastened away.

What a strange boy…Lily wrapped her arms securely around herself once again. She never imagined that she would ever have an actual civilized conversation with the boy she'd tried to hex so many times, much less feel pity for.

She turned a bend and wondered—all right, so she helped out a little bit. And even though the news hadn't been warmly welcomed by James, she felt like she'd helped some. It was a dangerous thing, this society. It needed to be put away. James wasn't the only one at stake—there were countless others who Lily bet would suffer duly if ever they interfered or got in the way of the House of Wolves.

It was a chilling thought. Would they, people that she had seen and passed on her way to classes; that shared her table at lunch and laughed in her classes, really be ruthless as wolves, willing to seriously harm anybody that stumbled into their path? She could see now that James had instantly seen them for what they were—could a popular, spoiled boy really see that but not the weakness in his own friend?

Well, people see what they want to, she guessed. It can come up and bite you in the ass and you wouldn't even feel it if you so chose not to. Even James, whose intelligence potentially rivaled some of the professors' (especially Parka), and who had seen the faults in those he didn't know, but was blind to those that had already wormed their way into his trust.

Lily sighed. She didn't like the way this was going.

Sorry for the short chapter—I threw this one in for the heck of it; didn't really plan it. I just sorta stuck it in there. So, there's Lily/James interaction all right, so that's okay. Yes, there will be some more later on. And there will certainly be drama, occasional light touches of humor and budding romance. Later on, there will be some violence—not guts dripping from gaping wounds; that's gross XD But some slightly disturbing stuff—not bad at first, but it won't be pretty a few chapters from now.

Remus will come into play in the last few chapters, so Remus fans rejoice :)

Oh, and you might be thinking—if James suspected him now of being untrustworthy, how did Peter end up being James' Secret Keeper? That will be explained, trust me. More about Peter's character will be revealed, both the good and ugly.

Next chapter—lots of suspicion, going 'round and 'round.

Please read and review, and let me know what you think!


	5. Confrontation and Beginnings of a Plan

Another chapter up for your enjoyment. The last one actually wasn't planned; just sort of something I threw in there. Back to the storyline—sort of.

Zetta: no, this is not a Peter-bashing story—I don't really like bashing either because it's always so crude. But remember that it's pointless to make him out as a saint, although realize this—I'm going by the book, really, and the book says that James trusted Peter enough to make him his Secret Keeper later on in life. After all, he had some Gryffindor qualities. So, Peter might be atoning for himself later—won't say no more here! But don't worry—no bashing :) And thank you for recommending me to your mailing list!

This chapter is brought to you by the wonderful folks at McWarlock's, home of the tasty Warlock Whopper and deliciously salty McFlies. 

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The House of Wolves

When James walked back into the common room a few minutes after his stimulating conversation with Lily, a smile was plastered on his face; one that perhaps only Remus, being rather insightful, would see as a false front. The smile became fixed as his eyes rested on Peter in the far corner, still listening in on a vivid discussion—not about Snape this time; rather, comparing the differences between the latest Cleansweep and the Nimbus 1000—and was laughing well enough.

For a moment James wanted to give him a serious wedgie. Then his anger deflated and his shoulders sagged—he couldn't be angry at Peter. He just couldn't be. As quick as James was to anger, the negative feelings ebbed away just as fast. The only exception was Snape, possibly, but that was a different story. Peter was a Gryffindor, and James wasn't about to say that every Gryffindor was without faults. Look at Lily Evans—as much a Gryffindor as anyone, but with no sense of fun.

Despite the stereotype of every popular person, James picked his friends carefully. Sirius he had known for ages; Remus, there was a decency that you could be blind and yet still see. Peter had his good points, and James didn't let just anybody in his private circle of friends, whether it was considered an honor or not. Peter just…made a mistake. His strength was his practicality, his weakness was that he lacked the solid nerves of steel that James and Sirius had. But Peter had gotten their skins out of some very bad situations; while not exceptionally impressive on the outside, he was quick to see things that other missed.

And he wasn't a bad Gobstones player, either. James smiled wryly. Just a mistake. He'd talk to Peter later, lay it out straight. After all, James had to admit the point Remus had made earlier—James _hadn't_ explained the details about Lupi; how he knew what he knew. It was only fair to Peter that James explain. Besides, this meant that they still had a chance to get to the common room of Lupi!

Feeling a weight lift off his chest, James' smile was less forced, and he ambled over to Sirius in his usual easy, loping gait. The black-haired teenager looked up briefly as James approached and beckoned him to look at a little formula he had. James peeked and grinned outright—brilliant! He gave a solid nod of approval.

Their attention was turned back to the discussion at hand, which had abruptly turned from leaning in favor of the Nimbus to the Cleansweep. James had always liked the former better; but the Nimbus had more invested into it and therefore cost more. 

"I'm putting my money on the Nimbus," Largo Ingles declared. Forever at odds with him was Terry Gallows, who was shaking his blindingly blonde head.

"Mine's on Cleansweep."

"It's solid and all, but the Nimbus is faster and goes much higher," Largo said. "It's the powerhouse of the broom series."

"Powerhouses cost big Galleons," James said mildly.

"They're worth it," the other declared, running a hand through scraggly red hair. Freckled popped out like beacons. James shrugged—the guy had a point. Largo grinned. "Plus—Valencia Hooter was sitting on a Nimbus posing for the last _Playwizard. That's good enough for me."_

"You've got _Playwizard_?" Sirius asked keenly, suddenly stuffing his work away.

"A secret stash," Largo winked at him. "Hidden under—I'm not telling you, you'll steal it," he added, seeing Sirius' face light up.

Sirius groaned in mocking despair. "_Valencia__ Hooter…"_

Terry looked deeply disapproving. He was, after all, a Head Boy, something that Largo continually forgot—the redhead had a rather selective memory. "You're not supposed to have _Playwizard_ magazines," he said sternly.

Largo waved a hand around. "Just 'cause I say I've got it doesn't really mean I do," he said airily, winking at Sirius. "And if you keep it under your hat, I might let you have a peek at some of the magazines I 'haven't got.' There's some pretty good ones of Chesty Butlocks—" Terry coughed and turned beet red, his hair standing out like snow, but didn't say anything. Sirius laughed and draped an arm around Terry's shoulders.

"If you give into temptation, Terry," he said seriously, "don't get caught. The last thing you want is for McGonagall to catch you. She'd be so disappointed." He looked thoughtful. "But, boys will be boys. Go and have a look-see."

Terry sputtered. "I can't—I—"

"Will," Sirius offered helpfully.

Terry was red-faced for a moment, and then he reluctantly grinned. Largo laughed in delight. 

"See, not every Head Boy has to be stuffy!"

"No, just responsible and mature," said Terry, still grinning, "to make up for all the rest of their House. You know they only chose Head Boys from whose Houses are the worst lot."

"Make us proud. Read _Playwizard._ Become one with the moving color pictures of Chesty Butlocks and Valencia Hooter—speaking of which, Hooter's better-looking."

"Of course not," said Terry, feeling obligated to argue, "Chesty Butlocks has got a much better—"

"AHA!" Largo seized his shoulder. "You _have read _Playwizard!_ You are a man!"_

Terry smiled ruefully. James blinked in bewilderment---Largo had _Playwizard_? 

"I," Sirius announced later, dumping his books into his bag, "have a Brilliant Idea."

Remus glanced at him warily, still reddened from when Largo had relented, revealed his stash, and shoved one of the controversial magazines right under Remus' nose. "Your Brilliant Ideas," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the spot where Sirius was brandishing a _Playwizard threateningly, "do not always work out to be as Brilliant as you initially thought."_

James tossed in his own Arithmancy book for Sirius to carry. "Which is why we need a competent, practical, and mostly boring mind such as your own to make the necessary adjustments." Sirius threw the book back. James ducked, caught it in midair, and hastily shoved it back in the bag just as Sirius hefted it over his shoulder. 

"As flattering as that is, Mr. Prongs," said Remus dryly, "do you even know what Brilliant Idea Padfoot has got?"

"I saw the way his eyes lit up at the sight of those magazines," James said. "That might have been Chesty Butlock's assets that got him goopy at first, but then I realized he had an Idea. I often wear the same expression."

"When you see 'assets', or when you have Ideas?"

"The former often provokes the latter."

"Poetical, but I cringe to think of what Lily would do if ever she stumbled onto a conversation like this."

James sighed. "Yeah."

Sirius laughed, tossing a few magazines onto the table. "You're not even going out with her, Prongs, and yet she's still got you whipped."

"So you going to tell or what?" said James, nettled.

"Well, you wanted to raise hell for the Lupi cult, yes?"

James sobered immediately. "Yes…"

"Well, what I've got in mind won't exactly reach all of them, but it could land Daniel Vargas in a world of hurt." Sirius laughed. "See these?" he said, gesturing to the magazines. "We are going to do something that we wouldn't have even done to Snape."

Remus and James both winced.

"And this would be…"

"Well, we don't know every single Lupi member out there, but we do know the head honchos. Vargas, Magar, and Shanks—the Triumvirate of Freaks. We shall crush them like the girly men they are…"

"Right on, Napoleon."

"…who?"

"Never mind," Remus sighed. "Take Muggle Studies."

Sirius shrugged. "Anyway, we're going to, er, experiment with that one potion I was looking up earlier…" James' eyes alighted with interest—the same one that Sirius had shown him before? A slow grin spread. Remus caught this and proceeded to look very worried. 

"And what potion would that be?" he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Er—well, it was first invented by a witch who wanted her insensitive husband to finally know how it felt to have…that time of month." They all made a face. "It's the Gender Bender Solution."

Remus stared, his mouth hanging open. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"They'll slaughter you once it wears off."

"If it wears off—that's where the experimentation comes in."

Remus struggled to grasp the whole proposal. "That's a pretty complicated potion, probably," he said. "Where'd you find out the recipe?"

"Restricted Section, of course."

Remus sighed. "Of course."

James' eyes were getting the familiar, dangerous gleam they always had when the boys were planning something abysmally dangerous. "Sounds good to me."

Remus frowned, not so sure. "James," he said, "you're apparently what they're after—you sure you want to poke a dragon in the eye? We've got resources, but so do they…I'm not saying we shouldn't do it, but we need to have a defense against retaliation."

James looked thoughtful for a moment as he plopped down in a chair. Remus was right, of course. It was a brilliant idea that Sirius had, but Remus had a point in that the Lupi gang most certainly wouldn't like it. James stiffened. They might charm the Bludgers at the next Quidditch match or hex his broom to hurl him off, or try to poison him again. James thought for a moment, and then shook his head. This was just what Lupi wanted—to attack and try to scare him from scoring back.

"We'll just have to take the chance, and watch our backs," he grated. "I'm not going to live like a coward. Maybe we can even provoke them into trying something drastic and they'll slip up—McGonagall and Dumbledore are watching them, you know they are—and they'll get caught."

Sirius nodded, more serious now. "Sounds like the best plan we've got." He looked thoughtful. "But how to go about it?"

"Maybe it won't be as difficult as you think," said Remus. He seemed satisfied with James' answer to his previous statement. "After all, we've never yet struck back. They probably think we're scared—catch them off guard."

"Yeah…but still, we can't be obvious." Sirius sighed. "Too bad Peter got out so early. He would have made the perfect spy."

James blinked. He'd forgotten all about Peter. His stomach did a flip flop—should he tell them? James couldn't stand the thought of hiding something from his best friends, but he had a feeling that he could still sit down Peter and talk to him. No—he'd wait later until after he'd tried. It wasn't a lost cause…

Peter was attempting to get through some Potions homework. It was always his most difficult subject, and so much harder when there wasn't anybody nearby to help. Transfiguration was probably his easiest—ever since he'd been able to become an Animagi, he'd felt confident in his abilities in that particular class. But Potions? Nobody liked that except for greasy Snape.

He frowned and bit his thumb, an odd habit of his.

"Peter," called a voice. He looked up to see James striding towards his corner of the common room. "Hey," he said nonchalantly.

"Hi," said Peter, trying to sound equally as casual. He hated that his voice rose in pitch whenever he was anxious. "Er, what's up?"

James shrugged. "Not much. Some mischief."

Peter was on guard. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." All traces of a smile were fading fast. "Hey, Peter, I need to talk to you about something." James looked quickly around the room, and the smaller boy felt a growing sense of dread. "I uh, was told that you were talking to Arby—"

"Darby…"

"Sure. You were talking to him yesterday, right?"

Peter caught the hurt, shrouded look in James' eyes, asking him to deny it. He suddenly felt a wave of hot shame, and nodded miserably. He looked up, expecting to see James get furious. Instead, the teenager looked thoughtful and was scratching his chin contemplatively.

"Peter," he began slowly. The boy braced himself for the onslaught of anger. "I have to apologize to you." The words sounded strange coming out of his mouth. They were certainly unfamiliar in Peter's ears, who hadn't heard those words from anybody at all. 

"What—what for?" he asked bemusedly. 

James spoke carefully. "I didn't properly explain myself. I guess Magar would seem nice if you didn't know what I do…"

"…'Explain yourself'?"

"I didn't tell you why I'd like to take out Magar's guts and stuff them back up his ass."

"…Oh. Why?"

James looked at him. "Well—out of curiosity, what did you see when you went down there? What did they show you?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly the plush armchair seemed hard and lumpy. "Um—just everybody hanging around. They were laughing and telling jokes." He was mystified as James sat back, nodding like he had expected that answer.

"That was for show, Peter," he said firmly. "That wasn't a real meeting. That was just a ruse to draw you in. You haven't yet been to a real meeting, have you? It's not pretty—I saw it."

Peter's eyes widened. "You—saw it? When?"

Now it was the other boy's turn to shift. "Fourth year," he mumbled. "A different boy—some weirdo named Bullock—took me down there to see what went on in a real meeting. It was…satanic, almost."

"_What?"_

"Chanting, Dark spells, you name it, they do it."

Peter sat back disbelievingly. "Wait—they asked you in fourth year? Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"I didn't want you to get drawn into it," James muttered. "It's serious stuff, Peter—these guys are absolutely insane."

"Why didn't you tell Professor McGonagall? Or Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"I tried," said James. "They believed me, but there's no proof—I couldn't get back down to the Lupi common room, because the door only opens for a member. Plus," James added with a bit of a grimace, "you have to be careful about who overhears you telling…" James looked at Peter solemnly. "They mean business, Peter. I went through something very unpleasant when they caught me tattling."

"…Unpleasant?"

"No need to go into details. But Peter, I'm not lying, they're not above doing something nasty to those hey don't like." He studied the other boy's face carefully. "They lied to you, Peter. They want to use you for something, and when they're done, what do you think they're going to do? They lied."

Peter's mind was racing, and his quill lay forgotten next to his hand. Part of his mind shouted that James was lying, that he was just jealous; but the calmer, more reasonable part explained that James couldn't be lying; if he were, how did he know all about Lupi? James did not lie to his friends either.

Peter breathed heavily. He couldn't believe that Magar had duped him—all those disgusted looks he shot Peter, and the boy didn't even notice them, didn't want to…like James, he'd seen only what he'd wanted to, believed what he'd wanted to believe. And he had betrayed a loyal friend in the process of pursuing a higher status. Peter looked miserably down at the table, completely chagrined.

He had never felt like this; he'd never let down anybody like that before. And yet James wasn't angry; in fact, he was even apologizing for something that wasn't even his fault. He only wanted to help Peter.

"Sorry," he whispered, and he meant it.

James sat back, a wave of relief flooding him. Peter really hadn't known. A genuine smile spread across his features. "It's not your fault, Wormtail. You just didn't know."

"I should have…" Peter felt a hot anger starting to burn—both at himself, and the boy who tricked him.

"But you didn't. No harm done." James was starting to get uncomfortable—being compassionate was one thing, but he was starting to feel like he was caught in a bad story…Peter still looked sorrowful.  "It's fine—but if you still feel bad, I know how you can make it up to me _and_ get back at the Lupi snots."

Peter looked up.

"You see, the boys and I are trying to get down into the common room and show McGonagall, but only members can get down there…" he trailed off hopefully. Peter brightened a little.

"Well—yeah, I am a member," he began hesitantly, flushing, "but they're not giving me clearances yet—I have to be there for a while until they start charming the door to recognize me."

"Hmm." James bit his lip. "Well…you might just have to spy a little, eh?" He winked, still enormously relieved. The despair he had felt was replaced by a sort of giddiness. Peter nodded, still caught between a growing anger at Magar and an alleviation of conscience now that James was helping.

"So." James' eyes were questioning. "Will you help?"

Peter hesitated for only a split second. "Yes."

Well, I did say that Peter would atone for himself. And yes, there will be much, much more to this—all part of the plan kids, all part of the plan :D Much more James to come, and some frightening things (one of which is scary funny, and the other is actually scary) are on deck too. I estimate the entire thing to be about ten or eleven chapters—and after the next chapter, there won't be as much fun. This chapter, like the last, was sort of thrown in but I've got reason.

Uh, if there's OCC, sorry. I'm doing the best I can.

Alright, perhaps some L/J action next chapter, maybe a touching moment. 

Please review! I'd love to know what you think.


	6. Retaliation

Wow…thank you so much for your fabulous comments! It was amazing reading them; you're all wonderful :)

Anyway, sixth chapter up. And just to let you know, I won't be able to update at all next week, as I shall be away at summer camp. But it's just one week—although a week after that, I'll be zipping off to Washington for about a week and a half. I know, I'm horrible :) 

This chapter will be quite long (I think…). The first part is nice, harmful fun and the second part a bit more serious—okay, much more. And perhaps not something to read for the delicately squeamish. Eh…paranoid now, are we?

This chapter is brought to you by Niffler Chow, the number one most recommended healthy food for your loving Niffler. Contents of Niffler Chow include bits of shiny Rolex watches and sparkly tinfoil.

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The House of Wolves

Peter blinked bemusedly at the complicated potions chart before him. James, Sirius, and Remus were looking at him expectantly; Blotter with fervent eagerness and Remus a sort of strained disbelief that he was going along with this, which roughly as fatheaded as sticking an arm glossed with tartar sauce into the mouth of a starved Hungarian Horntail. 

James had lied to Sirius and Remus for the first time in his life. It was the weirdest feeling he had ever encountered, and never wanted to repeat it again. Remus had lied before, about his strange absences once every month, but that was understandable. James had lied to cover up the mistake of someone else—but that was all it was, a mistake. Sirius would blow it way out of proportion, and Remus would get that strange, tired look in his eyes again.

James had told them that Peter was going to give into Magar and agree to rejoin (very reluctantly, so as not to arouse suspicion) Lupi—a sort of spy, James had said. Nearly before the words exited his mouth, Sirius had seized Peter's hand and gave it a jolly shake. 

"Well done!" he'd said giddily. "And a good thing too, 'cause have we got a great idea…"

And now Peter was sitting in front of them, staring at the parchment. Complicated squiggles, diagrams and instructions were hastily scribbled there, half in James' tiny, wild scrawl and the other half in Sirius' spidery handwriting. Both of them had at one point doodled crude drawings of Darby Magar and Daniel Vargas in frilly dresses and bonnets, holding teacups with their little fingers out.

"So," said James after a moment of reckoning, "think you can sneak it in?"

"Maybe," Peter said doubtfully. "Um, can you make it? It looks pretty hard, and I don't think most of this stuff is in the student supply cupboards…"

"We can get them," Sirius said confidently. "Piece of cake—we never use the student cupboards anymore; we always just nick what we need from Blatterby's office." He casually picked off a bit of fluff from his sweater. "I don't know why the old bat's so broken up about it—all in the name of education, I always say—"

"You _never_ say that," Remus pointed out mildly. "At least it won't take an entire month to make, like the Polyjuice Potion did—"

James scowled. "And even after all that work we did, we still didn't get to catch a look at the knickers—" He stopped and cleared his throat. "In any case, we can do it. You need to find a way to slip the solution in."

"Won't they think I did it?"

"Not if you frame somebody else," Sirius said helpfully. "Pick any one of them, they're all on my hit list."

"You've got a hit list?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I do now. Wormtail, who can you pin it on?"

Peter thought for a moment, weighing the possibilities. A thought occurred. "Micker Linguini," he said.

"Small Fry?" Sirius laughed. "The Midget? Four foot eight with an ego as big as Chesty Butlock's assets?"

James grinned, eyes bright. "I forgot about him," he said. "Looked right over him." He sniggered and gave Sirius a high five. "I remember him trying to hex me 'accidentally on purpose'. He overdid it and ended up hiccupping raucous leprechauns for four hours. I don't know how a moron like that got into Lupi." He peered critically at Peter. "How come you want to put it on him? Not that I'm complaining, of course—the runt's got it coming."

"He hexed me when I wasn't looking and turned my knees backward."

Sirius winced. "Ouch."

"Micker Lasagna—"

"Linguini…"

"Whatever," James said. "Micker it is. But how to blame?" he wondered. 

The boys sat in silent thought. Across the common room, Lily Evans was playing a game of wizard's chess with one of her friends. The other girl was egging on a particularly violent rook when Lily looked up and locked gazes with James. Her eyes darted significantly to Peter and James winked, smiling wryly.

"It's okay," he mouthed. Lily seemed a bit doubtful, but her attention was torn back to the game when her opponent's rook finally managed to decapitate Lily's bishop. She winced and moved her other bishop to take a pawn, cringing when that little battle was also lost.

"Maybe," Remus mused. "Maybe…"

"Maybe we'll rot sitting here waiting, Moonshine. Spit it out."

"Peter, do they serve refreshments at the meetings?"

"Er—I think so."

"Alright…what you _could _do is slip some of the Gender Bender Solution in there. They'll know it has to be one of their own that did it, so they'll have everybody turn out their pockets—and we'll plant some on Micker."

"We'll only want to 'poison' about half of them," James said reasonably. "And we'll especially make sure that Micker isn't one of the afflicted—just so it seems more suspicious that way. Peter, add the potion near the end of the meeting after you plant a second vial in Micker's robes. If we're lucky, they'll find it."

"And if we're not?"

"Then we bluff and dish out B.S.," James replied, shrugging. "Even if they find the stuff on Magar, they may believe him when he says he didn't do it. We have to make sure we don't leave fingerprints."

Remus nodded knowledgably. "We might want to plant some papers on him, too," he said. "Instructions for the solution. They wouldn't believe that he memorized it from heart. He's"—Remus delicately searched for the right words—"he's not that intelligent."

"He's dumb as a baboon as twice as ugly," Sirius offered. "He writes down every smart little wisecrack he thinks up in a book, so he can look up one when he needs to come up with a clever insult."

"Most of which are ripped off of Fizzing Whizbee wrappers," James added.

"Which are written by monkeys."

"With epilepsy."

Remus sighed. "Right. So, later tonight we should get the ingredients. You two know what Linguini's handwriting looks like?" he addressed Blotter.

"A troll's," James answered promptly.

"With epilepsy."

"…Right. Make a set of instructions that look like he scribbled them."

Sirius grinned sardonically. "Yes, _Mum._ We're big boys, we know what to do." He glanced at his watch. The hands were little broomsticks that swiveled around the numbers, which were tiny Snitches, Bludgers and Quaffles. He'd gotten it at the Sickle Store out of a candy machine. "It's eight o'clock right now," he said. "Maybe we'll go around midnight?" The others nodded. Remus was looking over the ingredients critically.

"Where do we make it?" he asked.

"There's a closed bathroom down on the third floor next to the suits of armor."

"It's always a bathroom," Sirius said. "We live the glamorous life, don't we?"

Later that night, when all had gone to sleep and the common room was dark and silent, save for the loud snores of various students filtering from behind closed doors, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs slipped out under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak. Although an uncomfortable fit, the cloak managed to cover them securely.

The group moved silently through the halls, an art they had perfected years before. Mrs. Norris came sniffing around the corner and sniffed at the strange air that suddenly smelt of Chocoballs, but flicked her tail and continued prowling as the presence quickly left. Sirius dearly wanted to give her a swift kick, but Remus yanked his collar and dragged him back.

Professor Blatterby's office was two floors down but easy enough to reach. The crotchety old man was by now so paranoid that someone was going to steal more of his supplies that he installed no fewer than ten locks and half a dozen warding charms. These were all broken easily enough; after all, he wasn't a Charms teacher.

They slunk stealthily in, careful not to remove the cloak quite yet. James quietly unlocked a cabinet, which was protected with the same flimsy spells as the door, and rummaged around inside. Remus whispered the necessary ingredients to him. 

"Crystallized dragon blood," he hissed. "Diluted cockroach bile."

One by one, James grabbed them all and they snuck back out. James and Sirius replaced the locks and charms on the door, making them considerably stronger than they had been when Blatterby had feebly attempted to cast them; hopefully, the miserable bat would be locked out of his office that morning.

It had taken less then ten minutes. They next crept to the bathroom on the third floor. The sinks were cracked and dirty, lines of slime lining the mirrors and stalls. Remus wrinkled his nose at the smell, and Sirius grinned at him. "Not good enough for your groomed senses?" he asked. Remus shrugged, fighting to keep his eyes from watering at the strong smell. James was casting a Silencing Charm on the door of the bathroom.

"We can hear them coming, but they can't hear us," he explained, pocketing his wand. The others nodded. Remus set down the ingredients on a vanity table on the far side of the room that was spider-webbed with cracks and fissures. He pulled out a collapsible cauldron from inside of his robes and set it up.

They set to work.

It took them all night to get the potion made. By the time they crept back into their dormitory, unnoticed, their eyes were bloodshot and bags hung under. But each one wore a satisfied grin. Peter patted his pocket, where two vials of the potion waited patiently.

The operation stage had gone much more smoothly than he had thought it would, Peter reflected. So much easier. Micker Linguini, who had been bossing Peter around since the day he'd met him, was continually content to leave his cloak lying around just anywhere he damn well pleased, confident that Peter would pick it up for him and hang it on the ornately designed stone coat rack. Peter did so, but slipped an incriminating vial inside one of the inner pockets. 

During the whole meeting, Peter had sat and watched others practice dueling. Now that his eyes were finally open, it seemed obvious what Lupi was really about. Everywhere he looked, boys were practicing dark spells with gruesome effects. Nobody seemed to want to duel with little Pettigrew, and the boy was just fine with that. He was content to sit, watch, and wait for an opportunity.

The end of the meeting came quickly. Peter discreetly slipped the potion into the punch at one of the tables, relieved to see that it did not change the drink's color. Then he joined the other boys for a few enlightening words from Daniel Vargas, who was still wearing his hood. Now that the truth had been revealed, Peter personally thought that he looked rather silly, hopping up and down like a hyperactive child. 

To Peter's relief, half the boys, before filing out, took swigs of the punch—Vargas, Shanks and Magar included. Micker Linguini did not, but instead grabbed his cloak and left before any of them. Peter was relieved—Micker was practically setting himself up: leaving before anyone else, not drinking the spiked punch; he was raising suspicion on himself before anything even happened.

The potion was set to take effect just as the Lupi boys were traipsing into breakfast.

And when that moment finally came, the Marauders howled louder then they ever had—along with hundreds of other students, most crying with mirth. Lupi members dropped their forks as they realized that their robes had become suddenly tight around the chest, and they were missing the familiar weight of certain somethings between their legs. They stared down in horror, and then touched their faces, feeling the hard jaw lines smoothen and round, curving lips, and lengthened eyelashes.

Peter did his absolute best to look horrified and bewildered, and pulled it off quite well—his expression mirrored the earnest ones of unaffected Lupi members. Magar met Peter's eyes for a moment, and his gaze was completely astonished. Peter widened his eyes in feigned innocence, and Magar turned to look at the others that were still their original sex, his eyes finally setting on Micker Linguini.

Peter followed the look and nearly burst out laughing. Micker really was digging his own grave; he was laughing hysterically, tears streaming down his face and fists pounding on the table. James and the others laughed even harder when they saw this.

"We didn't even have to plant anything!" Sirius hissed gleefully. "He's doing it all for us! Look at Vargas and Magar—they're furious at him!" He cackled with delight. "This is perfect!"

He and James gave each other high fives. Remus really was an amazing sight just then—naturally quiet and sensible, he had never been particularly prone to bursts of laughter, usually just chuckling along with the joke and making sardonic replies.

But now, he was laughing just as hard as anyone else, peals of laughter erupting, and tears storming from his eyes.

The whole day was like that—the potion was set to last for at least a dozen hours, and McGonagall, forcibly hiding a smile, reminded the afflicted that by no means were they allowed skipping class. The boys addressed were forced to endure taunting and teasing for that day and many to come, each shooting murderous looks at Micker Linguini as they passed him. Micker finally realized that something was wrong when they stomped up to him, brandishing a vial and papers they had found in Micker's coat. The boy's face had paled, and he'd sputtered that it wasn't him—come on, he said, don't give me enough credit for something like that…

They did, and Micker was sporting serious bruises later. He alone seemed to suspect the real culprits and glared daggers at the Marauders, who winked cheekily back and cheerfully gave rude gestures—well, James and Sirius gave rude gestures, and Remus was content to smile.

Micker sent an equally offensive gesture back, and turned fiercely in the other direction. Remus stared after him, his smile slightly faded.

"What if he tells them it was us, and they believe it?" he asked, concern lining his voice.

"Then we make do," said Sirius, shrugging. "It was worth it." He held up several photos. "I took the liberty of snapping a few, by the way. I've got copies for all."

The next week or so passed without much event, save for thinly veiled glares sent their way by Micker Linguini, who was now bearing evidence of a few scars. But apparently some of his fellow Lupi members seemed to take him seriously, for they were now staring hatefully at the quartet. Vargas and Magar, who were the first ones to recover from the humiliation of the prank, were two of the believers. Their stony stares proved proof enough—although their gazes, strangely enough, never lingered on Peter. It seemed as though they didn't believe he had done anything; in fact, Magar passed by Peter in the hallway and discreetly whispered that Peter could help Lupi's retaliation, as though Peter had also been hit.

This suited him just fine—they hadn't charmed the door to recognize him yet; it was still a few more meetings before they did. Peter needed to keep their trust at least until then. So he pretended to shoot the other Marauders with glares that were as loaded with hate as Magar's. Vargas and Magar seemed satisfied with that.

The Marauders were striding down to Care of Magical Creatures that sunny day, out to a paddock on the far side of the grounds. This class they shared with the Slytherins—Micker Linguini and Shiloh Shanks were lounging there on rocks when they arrived, giving venomous looks to James, Sirius and Remus, who crossed their eyes and stuck out their tongues (well, James and Sirius did, anyway).

Professor Kettleburn came bumbling towards them, ready to start the class. He was an anxious old warlock whose nerves were completely shot from having worked for so long with dangerous creatures that his hands shook whenever he handled one in the class. He didn't look particularly pleased with the subject they would be starting just that day, but there was nothing he could really do—the sixth years obviously had to contend with some of the more dangerous beasts, while the younger students were kept easily amused by nifflers and the like. 

Griffins stood tethered in the paddock, restlessly pawing at the ground and grunting impatiently. Their eagle heads were cocked to one side, staring at the apprehensively approaching students with dazzling opal-colored eyes. Their lion tails flicked predatorily. Kettleburn rummaged around a small locker at the end of the paddock and drew out a slab of raw, red meat that was still dripping blood. Several students wrinkled their noses in disgust. James looked on in interest.

Kettleburn tossed the slab out to one of the griffins, which pounced on it eagerly and began tearing shreds from the piece. A girl groaned and turned away. Kettleburn kept tossing out chunks to the beasts, all of which devoured them with as much fervor as the first.

"Best to feed a griffin before working with it," said Kettleburn in a strained voice, apparently having found that out the hard way before. "It sedates them and renders them a bit more docile, as giving meat is a sign of goodwill."

The rest of the class stared in fascination. Kettleburn cleared his throat.

"One thing," he said, "that you, ah, do _not_ want to do is provoke them by attacking in any way. Don't even pull your wands out—they immediately sense danger and will not hesitate to strike. Just slow and gentle there." He gingerly approached the first griffin, which had quickly finished its meat and was staring at Kettleburn with an almost superior, self-possessed look. The professor inched forward and slowly raised his hand. The griffin hesitated, and then stepped forward and allowed Kettleburn to pat its beak.

The class murmured approvingly. Shiloh Shanks was giving James a measuring look, but the teenager didn't notice. 

The students were divided into groups of four, each group being assigned a griffin. One by one, the students stepped forward and waited for the griffin to come forward. The one the Marauders were assigned to was a handsome beast, with subtle metal tones embedded in the feathers. James was the last to go up. The griffin barely hesitated before stepping forward with a bored air. 

James patted the head and the griffin's tail flicked lazily, enjoying the pet. James was just about to turn and go back to allow Sirius another go when he saw Shiloh Shanks twirling his wand idly, giving James a sardonic, mocking look. Shanks raised his wand, and James froze. The other whispered something, and a blue light streaked out from the tip of his wand. James whirled around just as it hit the griffin.

It seemed to all happen in slow motion. The first widening of the griffin's eyes as it felt the sharp pain piercing its side, and the fury quickly clouding them as it narrowed its focus on James. The teenager barely took a step back when the griffin's muscles coiled and sprang in the fraction of a second.

The griffin leapt instantly, muscles rippling with streamlined, liquid power under the glossy coat. James turned his head just in time, and the griffin's beak missed his throat and instead clamped into his shoulder.

James cried out and fell to the ground with the immense weight of the griffin bearing on him, trying to reach for his wand and crying out in shock and pain when a blinding heat stabbed through his left arm, and part of it went numb. His wand flew several feet away as the griffin's tail whacked it loose from James' grip, talons tearing and ripping at his shoulders. Claws tore into his legs and the griffin's beak bore heavily down on James' throat…

"_STUPEFY!" Several voices rang out. No fewer than four red streaks of light lanced at the griffin, which twitched and went limp, falling sluggishly on James. He tried to shove it off, gritting his teeth, but his left arm didn't want to work and his right had a serious gash running through it._

Several people heaved the beast off and James gasped for air as the weight was lifted off his chest. He coughed, spasms racking his chest. He felt the worried cries of his peers hush suddenly, morphing into silences of horror.

Kettleburn was there in a flash, helping James sit up with shaking hands. James glanced down bemusedly and barely registered what he saw. 

His left arm was a bloody mess—and it wasn't just numb.

It was completely detached from his body.

Girls screamed.

James couldn't comprehend—what happened?

He barely felt anything as they magicked a stretcher and hefted him up on it. He felt like he was outside of his own body; weightless and unaware, watching with interest as some strange, unfamiliar raven-haired boy was born away on a stretcher. He peered keenly at the stump where the arm should have been, and where there was now blood pouring out like a waterfall; a barrage of sticky red fluid, with white bone sticking out and tasting fresh air.

James felt no pain, only a dazed numbness. He barely even felt Sirius grabbing his shoulder and stuffing his overshirt against the stump, trying to keep more blood from gushing out. His eyes were wide with fear—what was he scared of? James didn't feel anything, nothing at all. He vaguely registered the shrieks coming from several of the girls watching. They were sobbing—why? Who the hell's dying?

He watched as his own body was hurried down to the hospital wing, watching through windows that were slowly dimming. One image remained until the very end—Shiloh Shanks, standing there with his wand raised, smirking.

Then everything went black.

Cliffhanger!!! Oh, I'm so sorry, but I have to cut it off there. I know, I'm horrible, but it was the best place to do it. Sorry!

The next chapter will have a bit of a confrontation between James and—well, you'll find out. 

Speaking of the next chapter, I may not be able to update for a while—next week I'll be at camp, without computers and essentially any technology whatsoever except showers and flushing toilets. If I type like the wind, however, I may be able to get a (short) one up by Saturday. No promises.

Please review, and tell me what you think!


	7. Visitors

I know that it was most nasty of me to leave you hanging there—I have the power. I have the power to make you want to strangle me.

Alrighty, getting into the plot more now. Politics, danger, and bad humor—just like a soap opera, which is scary.

The chapter is brought to you by me, the author.

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_Chudley Cannons: Let's just hope for the best, shall we?_

The House of Wolves

James snorted, awakening to the strong smell of disinfectant that told him immediately where he was—the hospital wing. James grunted and used his right arm to shove himself upwards, eyes still closed. He couldn't feel his left arm—oh, right, it was cut off.

James froze and looked at it, disbelieving. It was there—his arm was there! He tried to wiggle his fingers, but they wouldn't respond to his brain's commands. James tried again, and again he failed to evoke any sort of movement. 

"James!" He looked up to see Sirius, Remus and Peter standing there. "You're awake!" They rushed to his side, clapping him gently on the back. James grinned for a moment before turning his attention back to the inactive limb.

"Yeah…hey, not to sound weird or anything, but wasn't my arm cut off?" James asked blandly. Remus looked at him strangely.

"You're—not going to ask what happened?" he asked. "Don't you want to know why you were attacked?"

"I already know," James said shortly. "Shanks—that bastard, he hexed the griffin and—"

"Wait—what?"

James stared. "Didn't you see? He sent a hex towards the griffin—he tried to get me killed, that son of a—"

"We didn't see," Sirius said. "All we saw was a blue light, and then wham! The griffin was on you like…like…Snape on a grease trap," he finished lamely. He was at a loss for words, something that rarely happened. Although it wasn't noticeable, Sirius was sorely shaken up by what had almost happened. James was his best friend; his brother. If he had died… Then anger swiftly replaced the fear as Sirius registered what James had said.

"_What?" he demanded. "Shanks? I'll kill him—"_

"Are you feeling alright?" Peter asked hurriedly.

James glanced bemusedly at his arm. "I had an arm. I didn't have an arm. I have an arm again. What the hell happened? If it wasn't cut off, why can't I move it?"

"Madame Pomfrey reattached it while you were still out," Remus explained. "She said that you wouldn't be able to use it for a few days; the nerves need to reconnect to each other and the muscles—not to mention the bones, ligament and tendons—need to heal."

"She was able to reattach it?"

"Yeah." Sirius winced. "Mind you, it won't be pretty. Once the nerves start working again, it's going to be hell, 'cause they're going to be able to register pain." He shrugged. "Sorry, mate. Wish there was something we could do." He gestured towards a table at the foot of James' bed, which James suddenly noticed was overflowing with various presents. He rubbed his head in amazement.

"Good Lord, how long have I been out?"

"A day. Pomfrey gave you a sleeping potion to relax. You'll probably want more once the feeling comes back in your arm." Remus shook his head. "You were extremely fortunate that you didn't die, James," he said softly. "If you are right, and I think you are, Lupi isn't about to hesitate to kill you. They're that desperate."

James sat back heavily against the pillows, his arm useless at his side. A weight that he had been fending off for some time was now settling on his shoulders, making him stumble in confidence. The gravity of the situation had never escaped him; he had always known what Lupi was capable of, but he'd never felt the effects of pure anger before. It was unsettling—Hogwarts, always having been safe, was now victim to itself, being eaten alive by an unseen force that existed only to the chosen and unlucky few. James rested his forehead against his hand, suddenly having a pounding headache.

Madame Pomfrey bustled in just then, and upon seeing James, immediately shooed the other three boys away, insisting that James needed rest. They shuffled reluctantly away, giving James apologetic smiles as they filed out. 

Pomfrey turned to James, who was looking morosely at the wall. "How long will I be in here?" he asked dully, staring a hole through the white wall.

The nurse tutted, forcing James to lie back. "As long as you need," she said, wagging her finger annoyingly. Seeing James' displeased face, she sighed and added, "Perhaps you'll be out tomorrow, dear, if you be a good boy and do what I say. I'll just sling up your arm until it's operational again—but you're going to be in for a bumpy ride," she warned. "Once feeling in your arms regains, there will be a bit of pain."

"I know," James said tiredly. "My friends told me."

Pomfrey didn't seem to have heard. Instead, she began checking James' arm, prodding here and there. A prominent red scar encircled where the arm had been reattached to his body. James glanced emotionlessly at it and looked away, wanting to get rid of the gruesome image in his head of the severed arm lying in the grass, blood oozing. His blood.

As the nurse plodded to make some more potion James brought his hand to his face, sniffing gingerly. Even disinfectant couldn't completely wash out the metallic smell of the blood that had stained his previously unblemished skin. It lingered there, a palpable reminder of the danger only the day before; of the hate that caused the bloodshed. James took his hand away, eyes staring into blank space.

Someone had despised him so much as to willingly cause him harm, even to kill him.

James sighed and leaned back. The unpleasant metallic smell tarried in his nostrils and buried deep. James knew that no matter how long he lived, he would always remember that smell, that stench of undiluted hatred.

An hour later, when James was sufficiently coherent enough to receive a visitor, Lily Evans came to see him.

He heard her voice outside of the curtains separating James from the rest of the outside world; caging him in. James sighed—he'd never been so_ bored. He'd long since run out of arm jokes to make about himself. The whole situation would have been infinitely more interesting had his arm turned purple. James wiggled his toes, willing them to fall off so he'd have something to laugh about._

Lily brushed some of the curtains aside and stepped in, the bustling form of Madame Pomfrey behind her for a brief moment. Then the curtains closed and they were alone. James blinked—what was she doing there?

She tossed him a box of Every Flavor Beans. James smiled wryly. "You probably took all the edible ones out."

Lily shrugged and sat in a chair beside the bed, drawing her legs up. She gave the teenager a strange look, as though unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to say. "James," she began, "what happened? I know that you're not stupid enough to try and mud wrestle a griffin all by your lonesome." Her mouth was quirked up, like she wouldn't be too surprised if James disagreed.

"I am, but that wasn't the case."

"What was?"

"Oh, not much," James said bitterly, plucking at his bandage. "Just a kid trying to kill me, is all."

Lily's eyes widened and then narrowed in confusion. "Wait—who in Care of Magical—"

"Shanks," replied James listlessly. "Shanks, who unfortunately has very good aim."

"Shanks?" Lily repeated. "Shiloh Shanks?"

"The very one."

Lily stared for a moment. James knew that she, like himself, was stunned into a horrified disbelief; not having wanted to believe that anyone was capable of attempted murder on someone who simply refused to join a cult…Lily sagged a little in realization, and sadly understood more of the world. James silently watched the transition from naivety into an unwilling acceptance. He then looked away, picking through his Every Flavor Beans for flavors that he trusted. 

Lily absently reached over for one, still absorbed in her thoughts. James saw her hand going for a funny brown one—which he knew firsthand was booger flavored—and discreetly poked the brown one away. Lily grabbed a strawberry flavor one instead and munched at it thoughtfully.

"When will your arm be back to normal?" she asked.

James, reminded, gave another fruitless tug at his nerves, which proceeded to blow raspberries and not respond otherwise. "A few days," he said, defeated. He didn't mention the coming bouts of torturous pain. Lily nodded quietly.

"What are you going to do?" she said quietly.

James frowned. He didn't have to ask her what she meant. And the frustrating thing was he couldn't answer. "I don't know," he said.

Lily shifted uncomfortably, looking at James with a wave of pity. He saw the look and furrowed his brows—it wasn't a big deal; he didn't like anybody pitying him. "I don't need you feeling bad," he mumbled. Lily looked surprised. "That's the last thing I need."

Lily thought for a moment, shrugged and said, "Well, tough. Deal with it. You're in a damned mess and it's not your fault. Of course I'm going to feel bad, you moron. You almost died."

"And feeling bad isn't going to help me!" James snapped. Lily didn't take offense at that—she noticed the waver in his voice. "How can I get out of this with others standing on the sidelines saying 'Oh, that's so terrible, poor thing' when they don't even know that they're being eaten alive!"

Lily looked at him. "You think that others will be in danger soon?"

James' anger deflated. "Yeah," he muttered. "Probably. The whole bloody cult's on that damn 'elite' kick, anyone who's not is expendable…They're crackpots, and when they think their 'time' comes, it's going to be slaughter."

Lily frowned at his choice of words. "Slaughter?" she echoed. "Do you really think—"

"I do," said James shortly.

Lily sighed and sat back, her mind spinning. This was just all too much. She really, really wanted to believe that James was exaggerating, and probably would have had she not seen the truth in his words. Yes, the Lupi members were insane. Crazy people had a riddled sense of equality.

"What about Peter?"

That brought a smile to James' lips. "What about him?"

"Well—is he still…"

James's smile widened. "Yes. But he's on our side now."

Lily raised her eyebrow. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

Lily bit her lip and took a good long look at James, scrutinizing what she saw. There was no doubt there, just a fierce, radiating confidence. Lily laughed a little and stretched her legs out. Still the same old James—she didn't think about it, but if she had, she would have been startled to realize that she didn't really mind all that much anymore.

"I'd better go," she said. "Things to do. Don't get too bored."

"Easier said than done."

Lily laughed and pushed her way out from the curtains and stopped to say hello to the nurse before stepping back out into the hallway. James shifted in the sheets and poked his arm. Eventually he got tired of that and grabbed his wand. He drew idly on his limp arm with his wand, making little doodles of blue and green with ink flowing from the tip of his wand. 

Eventually he got tired of even that, dropped back his head and fell asleep.

It was later that evening, when James had finally reached the ultimate level of boredom and couldn't even sleep, and was dragging by the time by tonelessly drumming his fingers upon his bed sheets, when he got another visitor. The student stopped to talk to the nurse.

The voice was vaguely familiar, but as most in the school were, James ignored it and continued tapping out the William Tell Overture, which he only knew because of Viggo Yates blasting it out as an alarm clock every morning. He had just gotten to the finale when the curtains parted and James' fingers stopped in shock, and he sat up straight in bed and reached for his wand—

"Come off it, I'm not going to kill you," Daniel Vargas said amiably, brandishing a stack of papers. "I'm just delivering homework assignments." He tossed the stack to James, who didn't touch it. Vargas snorted and pulled up a chair.

"Don't sit," James warned, his wand grasped firmly in his good hand.

Vargas ignored him and sat backwards on the chair, leaning on the back. "I heard about what happened."

"Oh, really?" James said nastily. "So you can hear. Congratulations."

"Not that part," Vargas said with a touch of annoyance. "The part about Shiloh Shanks. Apparently about a dozen students saw him hexing the griffin."

"Why didn't you _take care of them_?" James retorted. "You know, so they couldn't blab about your cult?" Vargas looked quickly at the space between the curtains. Fortunately for him, Pomfrey was not there.

"Shut up," he hissed, "or I swear I'll—"

"You'll what?" James taunted. He fully well knew that it was dangerous, poking fun at the ruthless leader of the House of Wolves, but if he played his cards right… "You'll kill me?" he asked mockingly. "Gee, that wouldn't raise suspicion too much. Dumbledore and McGonagall are watching you."

"I know that," Vargas snapped. "I'm not an idiot. I'm coming to warn you and tell you that you got an 'Outstanding' on your Transfiguration test." James raised his eyebrow. 

"Which was more pressing?"

Vargas looked at him darkly. "Stop being stupid, Potter," he sneered. "It doesn't become you—I gave you more credit than that. I invited you in the first place for a reason. I'm coming to warn you, and give you a choice."

"I'm honored," James said sarcastically. "Here I was, sitting all by my lonesome drumming out the William Tell Overture in mismatched, uneven timing and here you come to lighten up my day. I stopped my drumming for this crap? Real honored."

"You should be," Vargas said, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "You're the only one who we've offered a choice, which is this: join or die."

James laughed. He laughed hard and genuinely. "Dream on, Vegas."

"Vargas," the other snarled. "You should be humbled—we've never given anybody that choice before; if they resisted, we simply killed them…" His voice trailed off. James stopped laughing, and was looking at him seriously. It was not the gaze of a scared man; if there were a boggart present, he could have stared it down until it crept into a corner and wet itself; it was more the look of someone equally as dangerous as Vargas himself; a predator.

"You won't kill me," James said, a steely mask shrouding his eyes.

"Because you'll join," Vargas said.

"No—because you and your cronies are going to rot in hell. Dumbledore's not had proof yet, but you're slipping. Shanks attacked, and others saw it. Shanks is associated with you—they'll be watching, and your hide is going to hang…"

Vargas was unruffled. "Shanks," he said easily, "has made an error. He has been punished accordingly."

James stiffened. "You killed him?" he whispered hoarsely.

Vargas smiled nastily.

James' fist was clenched in fury. "You heartless bastard—"

"You better watch that tongue of yours, or I'll cut it off," Vargas interrupted smoothly. James did not doubt his sincerity. "And for your information, I did not kill him, but merely gave him a palpable reminder of what will happen if ever again he is tempted to lose control. He is my own vice president, after all. I cannot kill him yet."

James caught the last word. "Yet?"

Vargas sighed and leaned back a bit. James seriously hoped that he would fall off his chair. He wanted to demand that that other boy leave, complain to Pomfrey, but a horrified sort of fascination had settled in with an absolute certainty that he needed to hear this.

"Get this, Potter," said Vargas, scratching his neck, looking for all the world like he was discussing Quidditch scores. "La Camera dei Lupi, the House of Wolves, is a group of violent miscreants who believe that they do not fit in their houses because they are 'elite', chosen to lead the new wave of generations. In reality, the reason they do not fit in is because they are too stupid and wild to settle down. They are bloodthirsty cowards that use murder and threats as intimidation. They believe that they are priceless, but truth be told, they are simply expendable."

James didn't answer—not because he was shocked speechless, but because he'd already known all that. Vargas caught that and nodded.

"But you already knew that, Potter, didn't you?" he asked blandly. "I'm not yet telling you anything you don't know." He tugged at his collar. "I realized this weakness of the Lupi members very early on, and I knew immediately that I could shape and mold them to fit my own, personal needs. You see, Potter," Vargas smiled wickedly, "_I_ am one of the elite. I fit in. I can blend and conform, while really it is others conforming to _me._

"The problem was, upon my first joining in fourth year, that there already was a President. I worked my way up the ladder until I was vice president. I was cunning, sagacious enough to stand head and shoulders above the mooning crowd. And then I killed the President." This was all said simply. "That is how things work. Very, very few Presidents live past seventeen. If I am not careful, Shiloh Shanks will do to me what I did to the previous President. I will not allow that to happen."

James scowled. "Get out. Now," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "I swear I'll shove my wand through your throat if you don't."

Vargas made to leave, setting back the chair. "Join, Potter. It's your only chance to survive."

"What, so I can be the next Shiloh Shanks?" James growled.

"No, so you can be the next Daniel Vargas. You could be great," he said simply. "You have the potential."

"I'd prefer to waste it. Go away." James raised his wand. 

Vargas smiled. "Very well. Soon you will be able to greet the President that was before me." He then parted the curtains and stepped back out into the hallway.

James stared after him for a moment, and then lowered his wand and dropped his head into his hands.

Poor James! Well, I was going to add more to it, but you see, it was going to be a cliffhanger and I decided that I couldn't be that mean to drop a bomb like that on you and go merrily off to camp whistling showtunes. 

Well, like I just said, the next chapter will be a cliffhanger, so be prepared—or maybe it won't be, depending on where I place the event in the chapter…oh, I love this, am I making you nervous? *laughs* Let's just say that James is hit where it's going to hurt the most…I'll stop now :)

Please review and tell me what you think! I'd much appreciate it. Zetta, you're leaving the loveliest long reviews, thank you so much! And thank you for referring me to your mailing list (Is your mailing list about your MWPP writing group thing? I think I might join…). 

And thank you Skye0906, for also leaving a wonderfully long review, too! 

Until next chapter, folks :) 


	8. Surprise, Surprise

Back with another chapter!

Zetta: thanks for the feedback, and good question: you'd think they'd notice the deaths, wouldn't you? I'm answering that in this chapter :)

This chapter is brought to you by Bob the Atlantean Bogglefish, who is probably shell-shocked at this unexpected turn of events and can be fully expected to be astonished for quite a bit of time. For those of you who have got no idea what the heck I'm talking about, go read Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files by Nyghtvision. 

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The House of Wolves

Lily pounded down the hall after having left James. She felt better to be out. Her hands were shaking, and she hadn't know if she could keep her composition one more second in front of James.

It had shaken her, seeing James like that. Although she'd never been on the best of terms with him—hell, she'd never even liked him at all—she had still come to see the teenager as someone who didn't slip up, who held all the cards plus an extra ace up his sleeve; the boy who knew the ins and outs of everything and was never outsmarted.

The James Lily had seen in the hospital wing was injured and rattled—although still defiant as ever, his confidence as well as his arm had taken major blows. It was a frightening thing to see, the rock being chipped away at.

Lily made up her mind. Yes, she had told James that she had something to do, and she was going to do it—she was going to McGonagall. Hopefully James' attack and the boy who did it would be sufficient for the professor to hold on to in order to gain more evidence. At the very least, Lily could inform her of some of the boys to look out for.

Lily rounded a corner until she was face-to-face with the door of the teacher's lounge. She hesitated, and then rapped on the wooden frame.

"Come in," came a melodious voice.

Lily pushed the door open. "Professor McGonagall?" she asked.

"No, no," said the voice. "Professor Parka. May I help you, dear?" said the professor under heavily done eyelashes. The professor was currently putting on another layer of polish on her fingernails—this time a dazzling pink. Lily grimaced; she could never figure out why an intelligent man like Dumbledore would hire such a bumbling idiot as Parka, who made little secret of her career previous to teaching at Hogwarts—exotic dancing.

No other teacher seemed to be in the room. Lily could hardly blame them.

"Do you know where Professor McGonagall is?"

"I believe, dear, that she is assisting Headmaster Dumbledore in a minor matter in London. Although I do say, she might have bothered to fix her makeup before going out into public, or at least put some on. She has the most unsightly little blotch right next to her ear." Parka winked cheekily. "But don't worry; you'll have your dear professor back before the morning." 

Lily had never noticed the 'unsightly little blotch' before, and her mouth thinned in irritation and worry.

Parka caught this last bit a delicately set down the little bottle of polish. "Something on your mind, dear?" She sounded eager, as though she were expecting a bit of juicy gossip.

Lily frowned in thought. Should she tell Parka? No matter what a dimwit she was, it wouldn't hurt to have some more of the staff on the alert, she supposed. And Parka _was _the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, although her theories of defeating dark creatures were usually centered on giving them free lap dances. Lily made up her mind and nodded, sitting in the chair across from Parka, who leaned forward eagerly.

"You see," Lily began.

James strode out of the hospital wing, a new man, fresh with confidence and vigor. His useless arm was in a white sling. He still couldn't move it, but he was starting to vaguely feel stabs of pain every time he tried. They were burning sensations and not very pleasant.

The teenager was lost in thought after having checked the common room for his friends, and having barely gotten out from the mob that massed around him there, hugging him and slapping him on the back, and telling him how oh-so-brave he was. Nettled, James replied that just about anybody could get attacked by a griffin.

Now, he was ambling along towards the library in search of his group. He briefly reflected on the words Vargas had spoken the night before in the hospital wing. 

'Killed the President before him'? James shook his head. Impossible. He was bluffing. Vargas was a seventh year. He joined in fourth year, which would have made James a third year at the time. If there had been a death at Hogwarts, James would have definitely heard about it, and there hadn't been one _at Hogwarts for as long as James had been there._

James stopped. A death _at_ Hogwarts…

He started rushing towards the library, his arm bouncing against his side. He ran in and slowed immediately when Madame Pince gave him a warning look, and speed-walked down near the end of the library.

Remus, Sirius and Peter were sitting at one of the tables quietly doing work. Seeing the angry look on Sirius' face, James had no doubt as to what he was planning—revenge. Hurting James was like injuring Sirius himself.

"Hey," James said nonchalantly. The others looked up and grinned as he approached. 

"Pomfrey let you out?" Peter asked, smiling. "You didn't run away?"

"Nah, who could blame the nurse for wanting my company?" James winked. "I humored her by being a good boy."

The others laughed, doubting that. James' face suddenly grew serious. "Look, I need to tell you something. Daniel Vargas came to visit me last night." He paused as everyone took a sharp breath. "He told me some things…"

Once he had finished telling them, Sirius was snarling angrily, too furious to spit words out. Remus, also, was showing a rare display of anger, eyes flashing. Peter was still in a bit of shock, and looked at James worriedly.

"He _killed_ him?" he asked.

James bit his lip. "I don't know. I thought at first he might be bluffing, but…I don't know."

"If anybody had died, we'd have heard about it," said Remus, reasonable as always but still angry. James shook his head.

"We'd have heard if it were a murder," he said slowly. "But…" James abruptly turned and walked quickly into a nearby aisle. The other Marauders waited apprehensively until he returned, holding a big glossy black book.

"This book has got every student from the past two years," James said, quickly flipping through it. "There should be something printed saying if anybody died at all." Pages whizzed past. "I don't get it…" He trailed off as he rested on one page.

Obituary was printed in curved black letters at the top. Below was a black-and-white picture of a surly looking boy with a mop of black curls and a sour expression. A caption followed the photo. Dread settling in his stomach, James read it aloud.

_"On June fifteenth, Marlo __Wyoming__, approaching his seventh year at Hogwarts, _

_died during a tragic accident in which he most unfortunately was attacked by a wild_

_hippogriff on his family's estate. The hippogriff was tracked down and killed by_

_the Ministry, but there as of yet, there are no theories as to how the beast_

_managed to bypass the protecting charms placed upon the __Wyoming__ estate._

_Marlo will be remembered by his family and peers."_

James' breath caught in his throat after he read the passage, and there was a deathly silence around the table. 

"It could have been coincidence," Peter suggested.

"_My attack could have been coincidence," said James, wearily shutting the book, "had not half a dozen kids seen otherwise."_

Peter nodded and stared miserably at the table. Any day now, James was going to have an accident too, and there was no telling from which way it would come. The teenager was massaging his temples with his one good hand, sagging tiredly. Peter realized that he must have lied awake the entire night, waiting for someone to come and try to kill him. James drummed his fingers on the table. Remus caught his eye.

"From now on," he said firmly, "we are not letting you out of our sights."

Before James could protest, Sirius leapt in. "And don't say that we'll get hurt too, Prongs, we bloody well know that; we're not stupid. Marauders have to stick together and pummel the hell out of anybody who tries us." Peter nodded in agreement. James stared openly, and then suddenly grinned, relief and confidence flooding back over him again. 

"We should go to McGonagall," he said. The others shook their heads.

"We can't tonight," Remus explained. "McGonagall's with Dumbledore in London, overseeing some foreign relations stuff. Flitwick's in charge—not sure where he is right now."

James shrugged, unbothered. "We'll tell her when she gets back." His eyes flashed. "And we give Lupi hell."

Sirius grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"Nonsense, dear, absolute nonsense," chortled Professor Parka, who had gone back to painting her nails. "If there were something like that in Hogwarts, we'd know! Us teachers see much more than you think!" She winked and tapped her head.

Lily sighed in exasperation. She'd been desperately trying over the last half hour to explain everything to Parka, but the stupid woman just wasn't getting it. All she did was add coat after coat of lurid pink polish to her fingernails and twitter, hiding her disappointment that Lily hadn't come to share some gossip with her, insisting that Lily was just over-imaginative. If James were there, he'd say that Lily wasn't imaginative at all, and that if she were she would be a bit more fun. 

The thought of James sparked a third wind, and Lily stubbornly tried again. "A boy was _attacked_, Professor!"

"By a _griffin_," said Parka. "I don't think they'd give a griffin a standing job in the 'cult', would they?" She giggled at her own joke, and Lily had a very James-like urge to punch her in the face.

"People saw Shiloh Shanks hex the griffin James was working with," she said, as though speaking to a child.

"A pity, really, that accident," Parka said. "James is _such a handsome man. And so graceful, too—he'd make a wonderful dancer, I could teach him."_

Lily stared, aghast. Not only was Parka plainly ignoring everything that Lily was saying, but was as well as openly admitting that she often ogled James. Lily had the nasty feeling that she'd do more than try to teach him to dance. Lily stood up abruptly, startling Parka.

"So sorry to bother you," she said with clenched teeth. "Good day."

"Good day," Parka chirped. "Do tell James that I wish him good health. And tell him that he's got free dancing lessons anytime he wants them. I'd be happy to oblige."

Lily's hand went for her wand, but she nodded and furiously rushed out of the room before her hand could do anything. She stormed down the hallway, not really sure where she was going and not really caring at all. Her footsteps rung loud and echoed in the hallway. Lily sighed and figured that maybe she should go the library and see Remus, Sirius, and Peter, telling them not to expect help from many places.

She stopped to double back in the direction of the library. But as she stopped, footsteps still continued ringing. Lily frowned; she hadn't thought that anybody was there. "Hello?" she called. Nobody answered.

Lily was inclined to believe that it was her imagination—and was inclined to later inform James that yes, she _did_ have an imagination, even if it wasn't full of hiccupping leprechauns like James' was—but didn't move. She knew that someone else was there. Her hand dropped on her wand just as a boy stepped out from a shadow.

Lily almost sighed in relief. Micker Linguini, the Half Pint. The relief ebbed some as she saw the arrogant sneer on his face that still bore signs of punishment. Lily frowned. "Why are you following me?" she said irritably. "Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to stalk?"

"Didn't _yours_ tell you that it's rude to tattle?" Micker taunted.

"'Tattle'?"

Micker's smirk widened horribly. "You're diggin' into things you shouldn't, babe. Hurting ladies ain't my particular brand of vodka, but it's for the best." He raised a wand. 

Lily's eyes widened. "How long have you been following me?" she demanded.

"Since long before you stopped to have a little chat with Parka," Micker said, sounding very pleased with himself.

"Well, I guess I looked right over you, Lasagna," Lily said easily, discreetly reaching for her own wand. "Didn't think to look down."

Micker bristled at the remark, and fruitlessly tried to straighten up and make himself look taller. "It's Linguini," he snapped. "You've been hanging around Potter too much. In fact, you've been hanging around him so much lately that we all began to think that you were hearing things you shouldn't. I know that's true now." He brandished his wand threateningly. "This is what happens when you snitch."

Lily grabbed for her wand, and had gotten it halfway up when Linguini, smirking nastily, shouted a strange word and a fierce, blinding gold light raced towards Lily, hitting her in the chest just as she'd started to utter her own curse.

The girl crumpled and landed on the floor in a heap.

Micker grinned, yellowed teeth flashing. "Adios, sweetheart." With that amazingly clever parting shot, he turned and ran down the hallway.

James and the others were walking down the hallway, cheerfully plotting out revenge. Of course, any course of action that they took would mean that James—and the other Marauders, probably, especially Peter who would have to be careful to emancipate himself from them so as to not look suspicious—would have to watch their backs, but they unanimously decided that they would not take it all lying down.

Many of their ideas revolved around the same basic concepts as their earlier prank had. Sirius had swiped a few more _Playwizard's from Largo Ingles' stash—hidden under a floorboard in the seventh-year dormitory—to get some ideas, protesting as Remus pointed out that he really didn't think it was ideas that Sirius was looking for. Padfoot shrugged and said that Remus was just jealous that he couldn't find inspiration like himself. _

Remus smiled wryly and said that Sirius' drooling showed that he was not in deep thought.

Sirius threatened to but Remus a _Playwitch_.__

Remus blanched and shut up.

James laughed at their bickering, amazingly glad to be out and about with his best friends. Lord, that hospital wing had been boring. James had passed his time by singing the school song in English, Japanese and Pig Latin, had drummed out the William Tell overture _and_ the annoying jingle to KWIZ, the local popular wizarding radio station; and he even spoke in third person narrative when conversing with Madame Pomfrey, which successfully both annoyed and charmed her.

Pains had begun in his arm, causing wincing, but nothing too serious yet. It really only happened when the arm received a severe jolt, and the nerves attempted to send messages to the brain to register movement. Since the bonds were just barely starting to fuse together, the pain had started out small and ignorable at first, but was quickly increasing in intensity. James just shrugged it off.

They were just heading for the Great Hall for some lunch, passing the teacher's lounge, when Peter spotted something lying in the hall ahead. "What's that?" he asked curiously, squinting his eyes. The others followed his gaze and their eyes fell upon the motionless shape on the ground. James, having the sharp eyesight that had been honed from years of Quidditch, saw it first—the long, red hair, spread out in a fan on the floor. His breath caught and he couldn't breathe.

"It's…Lily," he gasped, breaking into a run. The others immediately followed, rushing over to the fallen girl. Remus instantly checked her pulse, sighing in relief when he found a good, strong beat. Her chest was rising and falling.

"She's breathing," Remus said. James wasted no time before conjuring up a stretcher. They carefully eased her on and set off down the hallway at breakneck speed. James' arm bounced against his side and a white-hot needle of searing pain sliced through. James gasped and clutched the arm, still running, jaw clenched as he kept a white knuckled grip on the limb.

He had expected pain, but this was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. His heart hammered against his chest until he thought they were going to combust. The pain ran up his shoulder and neck in a torrent of fire, scalding, as if he'd stuck his hand in lava and couldn't pull it out.

Finally, he stopped, gasping. The others skidded to a halt, looking worriedly at him. James was doubled over, eyes squeezed shut.

"Go on," he rasped. "Get her to Pomfrey. I'll follow." He was exhausted just getting out those words. Remus hesitated only a second before hurriedly saying something to Sirius, James couldn't hear what; then Remus and Peter ran down the hallway with Lily still unmoving on the stretcher.

Sirius doubled back to James, catching his shoulder just as the teenager's legs buckled and failed. A hot tear escaped from the tightly shut eyes, and Sirius stared as it trailed down James' cheek. Never in his life had Sirius ever seen James cry, not one single tear. And now his best friend, his brother, was wracked with pain and there was nothing Sirius could do about it. He knew that it was the nerves reconnecting and registering commands from the brain, that it was part of the healing process, but he still felt helpless as James leaned on him for support.

They slowly made their way down, following Remus who had already disappeared with Peter and Lily around the far corner. James took shuddering breaths that shook his whole body, which now seemed as fragile and delicate as porcelain.

Sirius felt a rage settling on him as he helped James across, mercifully not encountering any students on the way. 

Lupi was sure as hell going to pay.

_Another cliffhanger, I'm horribly sorry, and there's not a chance of me getting another chapter up by tomorrow morning. Don't strange me, or you'll never get to find out what happens! I'll update in a little over a week. The next chapter will be good, I promise, and will hopefully make up for the evil, evil thing I just did._

Skye and Zetta: thank you, thank you so much for the amazingly long reviews! It's been such a wonder to read them. I really, really appreciate your honest feedback. :)

The next chapter will focus on James and Lily, probably, as well as the beginnings of a little  thing involving Remus. La la la…bye! Off to camp I go :)

Review, if you dare :)


	9. Strange Behavior and Announcements

La la la…sorry 'bout the cliffhanger from last chapter. Well actually *cackles*…I'm not, because I love tormenting people. :) Thanks to all that reviewed!

My week at summer camp was interesting, to say the least. I am now sporting about seven mosquito bites on my face and numerous ones elsewhere. Nevertheless, I've got some strange memories—such as camping out and bringing a tent that was missing the poles, hiking a mile back to main camp with some other girls and getting some, bringing them back and discovering that they didn't fit the tent, and ending up sleeping under a dubiously constructed tarp. However, I did have delicious donuts in the morning. 

Sorry I kept you waiting!

This chapter is brought to you by a house elf with a strange fetish for raw fish and funny-smelling begonias.

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The House of Wolves

James sat dully, tapping his fingers out on the bedside table. Madame Pomfrey had quite stubbornly insisted that he stay in the hospital wing that night. He hadn't objected at first, being duly worried about Miss Evans, who had been towed into the hospital wing only minutes before. 

Yet only ten minutes after she had come in, she woke up. Completely unscathed, at that. Not a scratch on her; nor was there any hint of mental repercussions. Pomfrey had given her a thorough check and, upon discovering that there seemed to be absolutely nothing wrong with her, reluctantly agreed to allow Lily to leave. James had frowned as she passed by without even stopping to talk to him, not even a spare glance through his separating curtains. He had been used to that before, but…his brows furrowed. Just because she'd visited him once didn't mean she'd do it again. He'd been stupid to think that things had changed.

James drummed angrily to some march song in his head that he'd gotten from Warlock Scouts at some point in time, glaring disdainfully at his arm that dared to still throb. As he got to the cymbal crashing, the offending limb gave a stab of pain, and James had flicked at it irritably. He'd come to regarding it as a separate living entity, attached to him yet not obeying any of his brain's commands. That arm was mocking him. James scowled. 

He was still dubious about Lily's sudden recovering, especially after being attacked—perhaps it didn't work, but the members of La Camera dei Lupi were not known for messing up. James was completely positive that it was they who assaulted her—who else? The Slytherins didn't usually bother with Lily, as she was most certainly capable of holding her own. 

James shook his head and sighed. He finished the droning march and began to tunelessly belt out a polka chant in Swedish and then gibbering it backwards in Pig Latin, which he was particularly fond of. He wiggled his toes that were bare underneath the cotton sheets, and vaguely wondered why all hospital rooms were blindingly white. He was briefly considering painting a rather potent cartoon of Snivellus with his wand ink on the wall, but that train of thought was interrupted as a knock came at the door of the hospital room. James immediately gripped his wand, even though he couldn't make out the figure from behind thick curtains.

He relaxed about a hair as Sirius, flanked by Remus and Peter, came in. James tilted his head, considering them.

"Remember the time we tie-dyed the Slytherins' robes?" he asked off-handedly, before his friends had a chance to speak. They glanced at each other warily, and James tightened his grip on his wand.

"Sure," said Remus, as though dubious of James' sanity. "Why?"

"What number was that in the Book?"

The Book was a record that listed every prank that the Marauders had pulled at Hogwarts, so as to make sure that they never did the same one twice. James narrowed his eyes. They should know…

Peter thought. "Number ninety-three," he said, and James relaxed his white-knuckled grip. "Why'd you ask?"

"No reason," James said lightly. "Reminiscing earlier glory days." He gave an inaudible sigh, tensed muscles unknotting. Polyjuice Potions didn't fill in the memory, just the transformation.

Sirius nodded knowingly. "Ninety-three, which was right before the week we charmed the gargoyles to follow Snape around and make faces behind his back," he said reassuringly. James nodded and sat back.

"Have you talked to Evans?" he asked nonchalantly.

Remus frowned. "Yes. She said that she felt fine, no side affects or anything. We asked her what happened, and she said that she'd tripped over a crack in the floor and knocked her head. And no, nobody tripped her," he added, seeing James' mouth open.

James frowned further. That truth only incensed him more—if nothing was wrong, how come she wouldn't look at him? Had she gone back to despising him? The teenager scowled. Fine. Whatever. He didn't care. She could be a bumbling bimbo if she wanted to be.

"We also asked her if she'd talked to you yet," Sirius said, seemingly casually, although James noticed the drawn expression that Padfoot always wore when trying to phrase something delicately, which usually never happened. "We weren't sure if she knew you were in the hospital wing too."

"And?" James tried not to look interested.

"She, ah, said she knew," said Sirius, looking a little uncomfortable. He looked at Remus for support.

"Yeah," said Remus unhelpfully. "She said she wasn't in the mood for, ah, 'juvenile conversation'."

"'Juvenile conversation'?" James snapped. "I don't think that—"

"Neither do we," Remus interrupted. "She was probably just dazed. That was a hard knock she took."

James shrugged. "Whatever," he mumbled.

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a while, with James boring a hole through the opposite wall with a stony gaze. Then Peter brightened.

"I have good news," he said happily. "They're charming the doors to recognize me. They said it'd be done by tomorrow night!" He smiled triumphantly. James looked up, anger vanishing instantly. Lily was forgotten.

"Really?" he asked excitedly. "Brilliant!"

"We'd best wait a while before having Peter lead McGonagall down there," Sirius mused, looking unusually thoughtful. "A few days, at least, so they don't suspect anything…" Remus nodded. However, James' smile faded slightly.

"By tomorrow?" he asked. "Why so long?"

Peter shrugged. "They said that Recognizing Charms take a bit of time."

James accepted that and allowed the grin to creep back up on his face. Sirius looked distinctly happier now that his other half was slowly returning to normal—normal for James, that was—and pulled something out of his robes. He thrust a humongous chocolate bar into James' good hand. "Pomfrey said you could get out this afternoon," he said. "This should tide you over until then…don't let her see you; she'll go mad, she caught me trying to sneak in a niffler I nicked from Professor Kettleburn—thought I'd let it have a bit of harmless fun with all the shiny furniture…" He glanced appraisingly at the gleaming metal bed frame. "It's a shame; Filch always keeps this place sparkling…"

James smiled wryly as he bit into the chocolate and appreciated the peanut butter taste. "I'm sure you could manage it," he said innocently. "This place is so _boring, I'm about ready to rip off my other arm just for something to do; it'd be cool to see if I could manage a fork with my toes…" _

Sirius grinned. "Or else you could just cover the bad one with the Invisibility Cloak and make it look like it's missing again, and see Pomfrey trying to look for it…" He laughed. "That'd spice things up a little. She'd wallop you as soon as she found out though."

"Anything to keep me around for a little longer," James smirked.

True to her word, Pomfrey let him out a little later, provided that he promised to be a good boy and take his painkilling potion. James nodded cheerfully. It tasted like cherries and had the interesting side affect of making him blow raspberries whenever someone said the word "bloke." 

There were no crowds of gushing students to welcome him back to the outside world this time, as his friends had taken special measures to make sure that they didn't find out. James wasn't quite sure what this meant, but had a nasty feeling that he knew when Lulu Longernub had come up to him and said that she'd had a great time and the cherry mouthwash had been a nice side affect, but didn't think that it'd work out between them as Filch sort of ruined the excursion. James nodded mutely.

He was sitting at the table currently, listening to the ever-present arguments between Head Boy Terry Gallows and his unlikely best friend Largo. Unlike James and Sirius, who simultaneously agreed on everything, Terry and Largo absolutely refused to acknowledge a mutual understanding between them. Even when they were of the same opinion, one felt obligated to play the devil's advocate.

James was trying to multitask by listening to them bicker while at the same time not trying to look at Lily, sitting a few tables over and not sending a single look his way. She didn't even thank him for helping—or rather, trying to help her.

Largo was just finishing a suspicious lecture on how Inhibition Lowering Charms worked so much better than Love Potion #69's when Terry, red-faced but still listening in spite of himself, stood up.

"Speaking of," he coughed, "potions, I've got an announce—" He broke off and winced, realizing his mistake just as a chorus of voices and thumps rang out.

"Announcements, announcements, annoooouncements!" The students sang, banging on the tables, James included, thumping his good fist and singing along. "Terry's got another one, another one, another one, Terry's got another one, he has them all the time! Announcements, announcements, announcements!"

Terry tried fruitlessly to interject at this point, but the students weren't finished. "It's a terrible death to die, it's a terrible death to die, it's a terrible death to be talked to death, it's a terrible death to die! Announcements, announcements, annooouncements!"

Another futile shushing attempt later: "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream! Throw announcements overboard and listen to them scream! Announcements, announcements, annooouncements!" 

Terry sighed as he waited for them to be finished. James and Sirius had started the chant at the beginning of the year, cheerily aided by Largo who was dearly wanting a good way to hack off the new Head Boy. The song had spread until every Gryffindor knew it, and Terry was wary of the "A Word". Sometimes, however, it slipped out, and the students gave him hell about it. He did _not make too many announcements; he was just doing his duty. _

"Are you done?" he asked dryly as James, Sirius and Largo finished in a low, mourning funeral march a full minute later than everyone else. They nodded in satisfaction. 

"We've got another verse coming, Head Boy," Largo said, crossing his arms.

"A way to avoid this would be to stop having any _announcements at all," Sirius advised. Terry tried to frown but his face just wouldn't obey his command. He sighed again and ran his hand through his blindingly blonde hair._

"Fine. I've got a _proclamation,_" he said. "There was an incident in Potions the other day, in which several nameless persons were involved." Terry cast a significant look in the direction of Blotter, who blinked innocently. "Professor Blatterby wishes it to be known that he has hired a professional warlock to come in and cast brand new security charms as the old ones appear to have rebelled against him, locking him out instead of any miscreants." Terry allowed himself a small grin as students hooted with laughter and the Marauders grinned at each other. "He said that these particular charms have interesting effects, and he strongly advises any and all to stay the hell away."

"That sounds like a challenge," James said idly, itching his arm.

Terry raised an eyebrow. "If you're going to do anything stupid, Potter, don't get caught."

"Spoken like a true Head Boy."

The others laughed, and James sneaked another look in the direction of Lily, and was disappointed to see that she hadn't even broken a smile. James huffed and turned his attention back. So she'd never really approved of his jokes before, but she usually laughed in spite of herself, catching herself in horror and struggling to turn the grin into a disapproving frown. This wasn't like her.

Terry sat down, his cheeks still pink. Largo proceeded to tease him mercilessly, aided by helpful comments from Sirius. James didn't join in, but leaned back with a look of hard concentration genuinely plastered on his face. Something was wrong. Remus noticed.

"Something bothering you?" he asked lightly, with a pointed nod in Lily's direction. James thought about lying and saying no, but Remus had an uncanny ability to see right through people. James and Sirius had tried endlessly on getting him to use this talent in the direction of the girls' showers, but no dice. James shrugged and itched his arm again.

"She's just being weird, is all," he muttered. "She always is. Nothing new."

"I noticed," Remus said. "Not at all like her usual self, you have to admit…do you think she really fell?" he asked in a low whisper, voicing James' own unspoken question. Sirius had turned his attention back to them and he snorted. 

"Of course not," he said. "She looks lobotomized."

Peter looked at the redhead worriedly, with a shroud of guilt clouding his features. If something was wrong, then it was his fault…he looked down miserably. James saw this, reached over and flicked him on the head. "Don't go getting all weepy on us," he intoned. "She'll be fine." Peter nodded, not wholly convinced, but with a spreading conviction that he would do whatever it took to help her.

Later that evening, Remus was working in the corner of the common room. James had dashed off to the little warlock's room, and Sirius and Peter were deliberately trying to provoke another stimulating argument between Terry and Largo. His head was bowed low over his lunar chart. He was busy trying to calculate the exact position of Orion's Belt during the summer month of July, a particularly annoying constellation that tended to hop around for the hell of it.

"Hi, Remus," a voice said. Remus looked up to see Lily Evans standing there, a smile gracing her face. It was the first hint of expression that she had shown that day, but the smile didn't seem to reach her eyes. "Working on the Astronomy homework?"

"Er—yes," said Remus, not really sure what else to say.

"Hey, Remus," said Lily, as though struck by a sudden thought, "how come you're always gone so much? And you look so sick whenever you come back." She tapped her fingers absently on the tabletop. 

"Er—I get it from my mother," Remus said lamely. "But she has it much worse, so I visit her a lot…"

Lily peered at the lunar chart. "Always around the full moon?" she asked mildly.

Remus' heart leapt into his throat, and he couldn't breathe. He forced himself to remain calm and expressionless. "I never realized. I'm sure that it's coincidence," he said firmly. "Why would I do that?"

"Trying to skip school?" Lily suggested, watching him.

Remus shrugged. "You know me," he said lightly. The act was becoming easier, and his words glided more smoothly. "Anything to skip Potions."

"You're sure?"

The question threw him off guard. "Yes…"

Lily shrugged. "Just strange, that's all. I guess it was always coincidence." She smiled another one of those smiles that never stretched to her eyes. They were narrowed. "Keep working on that chart. I'll see you, alright?" She turned around and went back to her group of sunny, chatting friends. Remus suppressed the cold shiver that threatened to run down his spine, the same chills he'd gotten when James and Sirius had first begun guessing about his absences. 

His brows furrowed. Something was definitely wrong.

James came back from the bathroom, hands already jammed into his pockets and whistling a showtune. Remus did not share in the lightheartedness, and James saw the worried look twisting his features.

"What's up?" he asked carefully, noticing that Lily was looking his way. Remus shifted and James had a very bad feeling.

"Nothing," said Remus, not wanting Lily to overhear anything. She was watching them like a hawk. Remus chewed his lip, absently tapping his quill against his parchment, unconsciously spreading inkblots that coincidentally formed an uncanny resemblance to certain parts of the anatomy. 

Lily wasn't being herself. There was nothing more to it. The warmth in her smile was gone, replaced by the cool, steely tone that she used to use with James. Sirius was right—she was looking lobotomized, and he felt no small amount of anxiety over the questions she had so callously thrown at him. Normally she would never had pried into his privacy, and would certainly never fire the interrogative questions so brazenly. This was not good.

James watched the emotions flit over Remus' face—doubt, confusion, and concern being the greater majority. He spared a glance at the redhead, who was once again ignoring him like for all the world he didn't exist. 

It was strange, watching others deal. James leaned back and quietly allowed his anger to fester at Lupi, as an underlying layer of guilt thickened and coated his mind until it absorbed the anger and turned it on himself. It was his own fault—there was no getting around that. He shouldn't have told Sirius; should have hidden it from Remus. Then they'd never have been involved—he wouldn't have to lose sleep over his friends, including Peter, getting hurt.

Peter he felt the worst about. He was already in Lupi before James asked him to spy, but James, in his zeal to catch Vargas, was putting Peter out there first. He felt like a hypocrite, hanging back and critiquing while sending his friends out into the battlefield. James was doing no such thing, but that wasn't what he told himself. At that moment, James Pleiades Potter hated himself more than anyone in the world. He honestly, truly despised himself.

The teenager sighed, scrubbing his hair. He felt old. He shouldn't have to put his friends in danger; that was for generals and leaders of thousands. No matter how others saw him, no matter the confidence James held, he did not want to be a leader. He did not want others looking to him for answers. He liked himself well enough, but God help him, he didn't want anyone else to become like him. 

And yet, against his own wishes, they appointed him. James scowled. How the hell was he to know? He always did his own thing and was praised for it. He pushed the line and was encouraged to break even more rules. He was not a role model for the young first-years; he was not anybody for them to look up to, let them find another idol. Hell, he wouldn't care if they chose Snape.

James sank deeper into a depression that had just settled in. Madame Pomfrey had warned him—apart from blowing uncontrollable raspberries at the word "bloke", there was a possible side effect of a dull, dark state. But James hadn't been prepared for this. It was a dark, lonely feeling that crept and ensnared the mind in a tangible web of blackness; where he was trapped by his own hatred of himself. 

He sighed.

Lily had been attacked. It had not been an accident. James was sure of it—having gotten slightly over his irritation at her, he realized that she must simply be hiding what happened. James didn't give a flobberworm's nonexistent ass about what Madame Pomfrey said; Lily got whacked and he knew it.

Right then, James decided. It came with sudden clarity, as though he'd known it all along. It came with a disturbing ease, troubling in that his mind easily accepted this choice; grimly, but without hesitation.

He would kill to stop them.

Now, I know some of you are going to complain about the last bit, but think about it for a second—Lily was attacked and something's up with Remus; they're going after James' friends to get at James himself. Of course he's going to feel bad, even if his anger is directed at the wrong person. Plus, like the story said, James' painkilling potion has a side effect of depression.

Oh yes, something's wrong with Lily. :) Terribly wrong. But you'll just have to read and see for yourselves! I should hopefully have two or three chapters up before I leave this next weekend for Washington. If not, I'm sorry, because from here on out every chapter will probably be a cliffhanger. No throttling, now.

Please review and let me know what you think!

Oh, and by the way—the day I left for camp I got a great idea for my next fic and promptly proceeded to viciously kick myself for forgetting to bring a notebook. No, Zetta, it's not pirates anymore... :) I decided that my plot for that idea was too flimsy and I'm going in a different direction. It should be interesting. :)


	10. Rendezvous

Hello, back with another chapter! Right now I'm busy multitasking, something that I was never very good at anyway—I'm trying to pack for my trip to Washington, write some more chapters for this, and still start planning out my next story. Busy busy!

This chapter is brought to you by the nervous hiccupping leprechaun that's hovering over my backyard shed. He sends his merry wishes.

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The House of Wolves

James leaned against the stone outcropping outside of the common room, with Sirius hanging by his side and Remus peering curiously at the portrait of Sir Cadogin, which had been shunted around the school in search of other paintings that could tolerate the knight's constant gibbering. Needless to say, it was quickly becoming apparent that this particular endeavor was futile. Sir Cadogin was just too hopped up.

James had adamantly refused to take the painkilling potion again, having realized the psychological effects on his mind. It was disturbing to him what the potion brought out; the inner insecurity that he'd rather not experience. It wasn't something he'd try again.

For now he was content to SUI: Suck It Up, as the older kids (usually Quidditch players) would say. Thankfully, Sucking It Up was getting easier and easier by the hour, as the pains in his arm lessened to a steady throb and he was finally able to issue commands to the long dormant nerves. Madame Pomfrey had clucked approvingly as she checked it earlier, declaring that James would be right as rain in less than two days.

Little did she know how wrong she was, James thought wryly; a sardonic, bitter smile spreading. He looked up as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, the painting's subject currently swigging a strawberry daiquiri, and Peter climbed out, carrying the Invisibility Cloak.

It had been two days since the door to Lupi was finally charmed to recognize Peter, and James had been getting impatient. His gut instinct was telling him that they shouldn't wait any longer, they had to go to McGonagall—who had returned the day before with Professor Dumbledore, and had been in a very foul mood over the excursion in which the foreign relation she was contacting spilled goulash down her front—and lead her to Lupi. 

Right now they were headed to dinner in the Great Hall, but shortly afterwards they would see McGonagall, praying that her foul mood would not carry over into their conversation. Peter would throw on the Invisibility Cloak so that Magar, Vargas and Shanks wouldn't see him accompanying the rest of the Marauders—they still believed that he was ferociously on their side, and Peter was pleased at his newfound acting skills.

It was the Christmas holiday, and James had been quite perplexed to see that none of the Lupi members were going home. Not one. James had looked at them darkly, wondering what they were planning; what was taking up their agenda during the holidays that was important enough to make them stay. James' nerves were on edge and his muscles were constantly tense, coiled, prepared to spring at the slightest hint of danger.

And yet it was an exhilarating feeling. When he was younger, he had been told stories about secret warlock spys that uncovered dangerous criminals and solved complex cases. James had always wanted to be a detective. It was a bit different from what he always imagined it to be; the constant pounding on the nerves and the fight against extreme paranoia. He hadn't known—but he was nonetheless easing into his temporary role.

James and the others started off down the hallway. James tapped his fingers—a habit that he just now realized that he was getting—against his cloak to the tune of "Yankee Doodle", and decided to belt out the lyrics in Swahili. Sirius grinned and joined in: the two of them had learned several languages when they were younger for the sheer fun of making others nervous because they didn't know what the hell they were saying.

They sang the chorus again and made up new words to it, most of which involved stuffing Severus Snape in a hippogriff's mouth and merrily watching the melee. Then they briefly discussed the possible results of what might happen if all the toilets in the school were flushed at once, a topic that sparked mischievous glints in Blotter's eyes and gave Remus the unholy willies.

They were almost giddy. Soon it would be over—McGonagall would know, she'd come down and find them, and it would be all over. The washing relief gave them a sugary high that made them laugh louder and more often, giving dazzling smiles to all that looked at them, even the Slytherins—although the smiles directed at that lot were best described as confident smirks. A thousand pounds of weight was lifted off James' chest.

The Great Hall was decorated beautifully—an enormous Christmas tree stood near the teacher's table, lavishly embellished with all manners of crystals, tinsel and ornaments that sparkled cheerily and invited all's attention. Everything seemed brighter, now; cleaner, even, now that the stain of Lupi would soon be erased. Students had swapped their customary hats for ones like Santa Claus', and a few had charmed snowy white beards to sprout from their faces.

The Marauders sat themselves at their usual spots, laughing and joking. It was going to be okay. James nearly collapsed from relief. It was so strange to feel so liberated, once again connected to a sense of peace that his fellow students never knew had been emancipated from him.

So involved were they in their reveling that they didn't notice the girl's presence until she came up. James looked up, halfway expecting and halfway dreading that it was Lily, but was instead greeted with wide, frightened brown eyes and many freckles.

James blinked at the tiny girl. He'd seen her before, but couldn't put name to face. He knew only that she was timid, bordering on paranoid, and positively hid under the table whenever any attention was ever drawn to the little second-year.

"Er—yes?" Remus asked kindly, also noting the girl's absolute terror in coming up to them. She sputtered a bit in response. Sirius stifled a laugh by stuffing some knuckles in his mouth. "It's Wossy Lemue, isn't it?" Remus continued.

Wossy looked absolutely shocked at the mention of her name. "Y—Yes," she whispered in astonishment. Sirius' shoulders were shaking. "I—I don't think th—that I've ev—ever talked to you…" She looked even more surprised at how many words she'd spoken.

"I asked you for a quill once," said Remus. Wossy boggled at him. Sirius let out a snort and choked on his roll. James thumped him on the back, holding back his own laughter. Peter looked mildly interested—he remembered her as well, but didn't think he'd ever spoken to her. He noticed Wossy's hands trembling. She really was a nervous little wreck; and was one of the few underclassmen left out of the traditional annual seventh-year prank simply because her nerves were completely shot. Any more and she would go psycho.

"Um," Wossy said, aghast. "S—Sarky…Sarky Niller wants to s—see you." She was paralyzed with nervousness, and her face was quickly turning into a shade of previously unknown lurid red. "L—Later. Not now," she said hurriedly. "Eight o'clock at th—the statue of—of—" She frantically wracked her memory. "George the Smarmy."

Remus frowned. "That's pretty late," he said. "Nine is curfew." Wossy positively squeaked in panic at the negative tone. Sirius man-giggled into his roll. 

Remus wasn't too surprised about the time. Coming from Sarky Niller, a particularly aggressive seventh-year Gryffindor female with a strong disdain for rules (thus making her the most controversial Beater in Hogwarts Quidditch history), it seemed perfectly reasonable. 

His problem with the timing was that it was when the Marauders planned to see McGonagall, when there wasn't too much worry that they would be spied upon. Wossy, however, had no knowledge of this and cowered in fright, positive that Remus was furious at her. He noticed her shaking and quickly dropped the frown.

"Did she say why?" He asked as nicely as he could. Wossy shook her head. Remus nodded, and the girl took this as a sign of dismissal and scooted away faster than Remus thought such little legs could run. As soon as the poor second-year was out of sight, Sirius spat out the roll and roared with unsuppressed laughter.

"I don't know which is funnier—Sarky wanting to snog a pathetic guy like you, Remus; you pull a Wossy on any girl that flirts with you; it's shameful—or that girl." Sirius stared at her hunched back at the far end of the table, right next to the doors, still chortling.

"You don't know that's what Sarky wants," said Remus, nettled. 

Sirius gave him a pitying look. "Of course not," he mocked. "What was I thinking? She probably wants to go over Arithmancy equations with you." James laughed.

Peter, however, frowned. "Er—isn't Sarky Niller on vacation in Majorca with her parents? I thought she left yesterday."

"Probably stayed for our Moonshine here," Sirius said, slapping Remus on the shoulder, who was bright red. 

Remus stared bashfully down at his food. "What about Professor McGonagall?" he asked.

James shrugged. "We can wait. Half an hour late makes no difference." He grinned suddenly. "Then again—if it only takes half an hour, then I'll be sorely disappointed in you." Sirius broke out laughing. Peter did not join in. He was discreetly glancing at Darby Magar, who had been watching the exchange with Wossy, his eyes narrowed. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Peter looked away and instead searched for Sarky at the table. And—there she was. Peter's eyebrows lifted in surprise. He was sure that she'd gone on vacation.

He shrugged and stabbed some beans with his fork. James and Sirius were contemplating having a food fight, and Remus was desperately trying to fling flimsy excuses as to why they shouldn't, all of which Blotter promptly shot down. Usually this was the point where Lily would interject with annoyance, trying to dispel any mischief in the making with some insults. But she wasn't there at the table. Instead, Jamet Gollier had seized her seat, which was all the closer to the Marauders (which Lily claimed was strictly so she could keep them out of trouble).

Later, the Marauders' heads were bowed down low over pieces of parchment. It was not homework, as they had whizzed through that hours before, but rather a complicated prank that was going to take some pretty complex spells to pull off. Each of the four had a bag in which they stowed away their incriminating papers. The bags were charmed so that only the Marauders could open them and see the parchments. Anyone else nosing around would only find a few mothballs and maybe a schoolbook. 

Lily Evans was sitting in a large, squashy armchair by the fire. Sarky Niller was nowhere to be found, and Remus was slightly glad as he was sure that he would go red if he saw her. He'd protested meeting her that evening, but James, Sirius, and Peter had won out and persuaded him to go, all the while teasing him mercilessly.

Sirius glanced at Lily. Something was weird…she was sitting stiff and straight, hands clasped in her lap. Strange. Usually she curled up in her chair reading a book, but now she was just staring dully at the flames, not heeding the animated conversation her friends were having—or else ignoring it. After a moment Lily stood up, politely excused herself, and walked over to where the Marauders sat plotting. They hastily covered up their papers as she approached, James looking somewhat apprehensive.

"Hi," said Lily. James looked at her strangely.

"Um, hi," he said.

Lily gave him a cool look. "I wasn't talking to you," she said. James' eyebrows lifted in surprise, and even Sirius, who was rarely caught off guard, dropped his quill. Lily ignored them and turned back to Remus with a smile that looked somewhat forced.

"You're going to see Sarky?" she asked, apparently wanting confirmation. 

Remus groaned. "Has it gotten around that fast?" 

Lily shrugged, although her eyes did not lose that steely lining. "The walls have ears," she said. Sirius frowned at her choice of words.

"And what's it to you?" he demanded.

Lily shrugged again, unbothered by the hostility in Sirius' tone. She didn't see how Sirius put his elbow on the table in front of James in a protective gesture, his eyes guarded and appraising. "Nothing, really," she said. "Just surprised." A strange grin popped up. "Didn't think he'd meet her."

"Nothing's going to _happen_," Remus said defensively. "Why does everybody think that?"

Lily laughed. "I have the feeling that she's going to knock you off your feet."

Again, Sirius frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lily's smile disappeared and her mouth thinned in annoyance. "What's your problem?" she asked irritably.

"What's yours?" James said suddenly. "You're acting like a zombie. We talked loudly about our idea to fill the Slytherin common room with boysenberry syrup earlier and you didn't say a thing."

"That's because I'm tired of babysitting you," Lily snapped. "I can't even walk over here and ask Remus a stupid question without getting interrogated?"

"Just tell me Lily," James said. "Just tell me what really happened."

Lily paled. "I tripped and fell," she said angrily. "I don't need a court case to decide that. Next time I say anything to you I'll make sure that it's not when you're trying to hide stuff for your next stupid prank and snap at anyone who even looks at you wrong."

"As if we're the wronged party," Sirius retorted. "I thought you were with us."

"Did I ever _say_ that?"

Sirius stared at her incredulously.

"Should we have any reason to believe that you're not?" Remus said carefully, wary of where this was going.

"Of course not," said Lily. "Don't you trust me?"

"Frankly, right now I trust you about as far as I can spit," Sirius said nastily. "You're acting like a loon. One day you're bright and cheerful and sunny and wanting to help, and the next you won't have anything to do with us."

"It's not my fault if I don't want my reputation soiled by your company," Lily said acidly, and turned curtly on her heel and stormed away to where her friends sat. So absorbed were they in their conversation, they didn't notice her previous absence or her current foul temper.

Sirius stared after her, confusion masking his handsome features. "Something funky is definitely up with her," he decided. "I just thought she was still a bit dazed from the doozy of a fall she claimed to take, but that just wasn't her."

And the clock struck five forty-five.

Remus chewed his lip as he hurried down the hall to meet Sarky. He wasn't worried about looking overeager. Hopefully he _would_ look overeager and Sarky would send him right back. But since the girl rarely changed her mind about anything, that wasn't likely. Remus sighed. What the heck could she possibly want? They'd chatted before, and Remus found her to be a surprisingly good source of Shakespearean quotes, but he couldn't remember her saying anything that indicated that she _liked_ him…

Remus thought nervously. What if she tried to kiss him? What if he was a bad kisser?

He almost turned back as he saw the statue of George the Smarmy appear entirely too soon, with Sarky Niller standing right next to it. She was looking impatiently at her watch, tapping her toe, looking every bit like the Sarky he knew. Remus took a deep breath and strode forwards.

"Er—hey," he said. "You, um, wanted to see me?"

Sarky's head snapped up, annoyance disappearing from her dark skinned face. "Yes," she said briskly, as though it were a business meeting. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away," Remus said, twisting a hunk of his cloak in his hands.

"What do you think about us?" Sarky asked. Remus choked on his own saliva.

"W—What?" he sputtered. 

"Us," Sarky repeated firmly, looking again at her watch. After what seemed a moment of deliberation, while Remus was busy trying to babble his way out of that particular topic, she took several steps forward and Remus instinctively took several steps back. His eyes grew wide and round, and his mouth issued a few incoherent squeaks as he tried to process what was happening. 

And all the while, Sarky was completely calm—this wasn't like her, not at all; even though she was a bit aggressive…

Remus found his back pressed up against the stone wall, a stone gargoyle leering at him from above. The girl's hand snaked inside Remus' robes and he choked as fingers rummaged.

After a moment, Sarky withdrew her hand. In it was clenched Remus' wand. He stared at it for a moment before comprehension dawned on his face. Before he could do anything, reach for his wand, call for help; attack, even, his own wand , directed by Not-Sarky, shot a red beam of light that hit the teenager squarely between the eyes.

Remus crumpled to the floor. Sarky watched him for a moment, and her features shifted.

The long nose shortened, the fierce black eyes faded and swirled before turning a lighter shade; dark skin lightened as though a milky wash of pale white had been poured streaming down, and tightly curled black hair lengthened into waves, the ebony strands turning a deep shade of red.

Lily Evans knelt on the floor beside Remus. Her face bore no expression. She looked quickly at the clock, and thought briefly about how angry the Leader would be if he knew how close Lily had cut the time. No matter. She had done her job.

The mannequin pulled a cloak from her side bag. She conjured a stretcher and silently heaved Remus up on to it, spreading the Invisibility Cloak on the boy's prone form, head rolling listlessly to one side. The stretcher followed Lily as she emotionlessly turned to walk.

She walked down the hallway, shadows laughing at her heels.

No, Lily has not turned evil, so don't flame me please. :) If you've been reading closely, you'll know what's up with her. And again, I've left you on another cliffhanger. 

Next chapter! Guess why she got Remus—I left a clue in a previous chapter; it's obscure, but it's there and you might guess it. Plus, the Marauders get wind of what's happening…Although I must warn you that the last bit of the next chapter might be a little disturbing. I won't say any more, but I know that it would make me a little uneasy if it were somebody else's work and I read it. Not necessarily violent, just…disturbing.

Anyway, I'll do my best to get the next chapter up as soon as I possibly can. Ciao! 


	11. The Gallows

Hi! Another cliffhanger, another cliffhanger :) Alright, I've been analyzing, and after this chapter, I'm pretty sure that there's one more to go. Depends on how I cut it—might be two more, but at most this story shouldn't be any more than thirteen chapters. At most.

Oh, Zetta? I fixed that 'warlock wizard' thing from last chapter, as well as another small mistake I made. Thanks for pointing it out :)

Okay, this chapter was brought to you by a sugar high, because the authoress was still half asleep and not very coherent.

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The House of Wolves

The Marauders sat in the common room, glancing every two seconds at their watches or at the great grandfather clock next to the portrait entrance. It was eight forty-five, which meant that Remus was very late. Forgivably late, provided that he did the nasty with Sarky, but late nonetheless. 

He'd promised them that he'd definitely get there by eight-thirty—despite Sirius pointing out that Sarky probably wasn't going to take kindly to that—so they could traipse down to McGonagall. 

Sirius and James were driving Peter absolutely insane by lightly singing nasty songs about Snape in French, and relieving him somewhat when they went back to their earlier wonderings about what would happen if every commode in the school was flushed at once. Peter had the sinking feeling that he didn't want to find out, especially when Sirius cheerfully said that he'd float a candy bar down the hall and see what the girls did.

Finally, James just sighed. "We're going to have to break up the party," he said. "He'll understand. George the Smarmy, right?"

Sirius nodded, smirking. "Knowing Remus," he said, getting up, "he'll probably be sitting there discussing goblin rebellions and ancient playwrights with Niller. He's such a wuss that way."

Peter shrugged, indiscreetly slipping on the Invisibility Cloak when nobody was looking. Then Sirius and James seemingly headed out of the portrait "alone", with the portrait entrance lingering open just a bit longer than usual, and going out into the hallway. Terry called after them to be back before curfew, but sighed as he didn't think they heard—or chose to—and Largo pulled his attention back to one of the _Playwizards_ that he "didn't have."

The trio snuck down the hallway silently, which was mostly devoid of students. Sirius and James were laughing and talking loudly about Quidditch to deceive any prying eyes, and they had Peter watch behind them from under the cloak, to see if they were being followed.

The statue was a good distance away from the common room, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Marauders. Blotter's words became softer as they neared George the Smarmy, ears trained for any embarrassing sounds. Sirius had to fight from grinning, wondering if they were actually catch the snarky werewolf doing something nobody would have thought he would.

There was no noise whatsoever. They rounded the corner and saw the statue, whose subject wore an expression of utmost smugness, and a large stone gargoyle jutting out from the wall, leering and sneering at them like it knew something they didn't. Its mocking eyes seemed to follow them, and the wicked smile carved into the stone seemed to stretch without moving an inch.

The Marauders looked on in bewilderment. Then James pulled out their secret weapon—the Marauders map.

He hadn't taken it out before, since he'd been positive that they'd find Remus there and hadn't seen the need to pull it out. But now, his brows drawn together with puzzlement, he unfolded the map and looked around to see that they were alone before raising his right hand to his heart.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he said with the utmost sincerity. The parchment rippled as though water had been spilled upon it, and the swirls solidified into rooms and passages throughout the castle. A smile tugged at James' mouth as he saw two dots labeled _Arthur Weasley _and _Molly Weatherly_ in the south wing.

But the small smile faded as there was no Remus to be found. No Sarky, either. James frowned at the map, wondering if it was working properly. Unless Remus and Sarky had gone to a passage that wasn't on the map—which James highly doubted; most of their previous five school years were dedicated to exploring every last inch of Hogwarts—then they should be on there.

Sirius stopped smirking, and a shadow of concern fell over his face as he read James' look of confusion, and knew immediately that Remus wasn't labeled on the parchment. He frowned, looking around, and stooped to the floor. When he spoke, his tone was grave and was devoid of the merry underlining that was usually embedded.

"We are complete blockheads," he said seriously.

James' shoulders sagged as the realization hit him also. He'd gone and done exactly what he'd feared—put one of his closest friends in danger. He quietly folded the parchment up and slid it into his pocket. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid.

Peter was right—Sarky must have gone on vacation, who else could it be—

Peter, still hidden under the cloak, stooped suddenly and picked something up, rising back up and wordlessly showing it to James, who didn't even flinch at the hand appearing out of thin air right beside him. His eyes were transfixed on the glistening strand of hair clenched in Peter's shaking hand, the thread glinting a fierce red in the dim light of Sirius' wand. None of them spoke for a minute. 

"Evans," said Sirius, testing the name out, tasting it with disgust. "I don't believe it."

"Maybe she just passed by earlier," said Peter hopefully. He'd always liked Lily; she always showed him a decency and respect that was given to him by precious few people.

James, if possible, sagged further. "No," he said wearily. "It was Evans." He couldn't call her 'Lily'. "I saw her talking to him yesterday—she said something that rattled him. I should have made him tell me," he said bitterly. "I should have forced him to tell me what she said."

"Don't start on that self-pity crap, or I'll sock you in the face," Sirius said warningly. "We should have all seen when Evans came up earlier today—she's never interested in gossip, why'd she have wanted to know if Remus was meeting Sarky? We all should have realized, Jim, not just you."

Peter was feeling miserable, looking at the strand of incriminating evidence in his white-knuckled little fists. He was also to blame for this mess, and it was all he could do to keep his composure when he looked at James, standing there lost, shaken.

"Where'd she take him?" Peter asked.

"Lupi," Sirius said instantly. He continued before anybody could protest. "She was attacked—we all thought it was strange when she wasn't damaged, but they wouldn't want to hurt her, would they? Not when they could use her to hurt us."

Peter hesitated. "So…you really think that Lily's not…herself? She can't control herself?"

"There's plenty of charms to control someone with—"

"Then there's two lives at stake," James said suddenly, breaking into a trot, the defeat no longer evident in his voice. It was a remarkably abrupt change, like a light had suddenly been flicked on. "Once they're done with Lily, who knows what they could do…" He grabbed a hunk of the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over them all, covering them as they ran. None of them asked where the other was going; it was a unanimous, silent decision—they were going to Lupi. Sirius hung in the back, following James and Peter who had been to the entrance before.

It was a good fifteen minutes of winding down different hallways, leaping down dungeon stairs and opening secret passages before they came to a staggering halt in front of the ominous door, over which the same nasty-looking symbols were inscribed. Peter poked his head out of the Cloak and popped it right back in as the door reluctantly opened, as though it knew they shouldn't be there.

All the while, Peter's mind was racing. If Lupi was going to do something, why wasn't he told? The answer came with clarity as soon as the question did: because they knew that little Pettigrew might get cold feet when it came to injuring one of his best friends…

The door opened with some creaks that, while normally unnoticeable, rang abysmally loud to the Marauders. They slunk in under the Cloak, confident that the door's opening was going to attract attention with nobody coming out of it.

But they were able to exhale and simultaneously worry as nobody looked at the entrance. Sirius' mouth hung open at the huge, vaulted dungeon, and his gaze lingered at the dark blue-and-silver banner with the familiar outline of a wolf.

Then his attention was drawn to the cult members, and felt dread lining the pit of his stomach. Fifty boys stood with rigid attention, their chins high and lips drawn back in very canine grins. He couldn't see what they were looking at, but he knew it wasn't good. 

Beside him, James was hissing in Peter's ear. "Go and get McGonagall and Dumbledore. Lead them back here. You're the only one that can open the door."

"What are you going to do?" Peter whispered worriedly.

"Hold the fort," James said grimly. 

Peter looked at him. The teenager was not joking. A tsunami of doubts and fear washed over—no way could two teenaged boys take on fifty others and expect to hold out…James' mouth was set. He knew he might not survive. Sirius bore the same determined expression, eyes hard and stubborn.

Peter nodded slowly. They inched back to the entrance and Peter slipped out of the Cloak and up the winding, damp dungeon stairs, praying that he was not intercepted before he reached the Professor.

James and Sirius watched him go, keeping a wary eye on the other boys in case they got curious as to why the door kept opening and closing when no one was there. Then slowly, silently, hardly daring to breathe, they crept around the rapt crowd. Sirius saw now that they were not watching something; but instead, waiting.

And what he did see made him sick.

A wooden structure had been constructed at the far end of the enormous dungeon. A wooden frame had been painstakingly created, a crosspiece in the center. From the constructed crosspiece hung a single rope with a loop tied at the end. Sirius had never seen one before; never really learned about it, but yet he knew what the monstrosity was, as all people have a natural knowledge of all that was foul and cruel.

It was a gallows.

The assembled boys hovered with a sick and eager anticipation, as though they were witnessing a sporting event. Their genuine grins were nauseating to see; grins that provided a disturbing outlook into their minds. They were insane. There was no other word for it.

James was experiencing a similar reaction to the wooden monster, but was scanning the crowd, not letting himself think that Peter—or even possibly himself, if he had accepted the invitation—could have been in that assembly, wearing the same foul smiles that rotted the eyes. He was looking for a particular person.

And there it was—a bobbing, red head of hair next to the gallows, the girl sitting primly in a chair, eyes staring vacantly ahead of her. James' breath caught in his throat. Lily's face bore no expression to show that she was even conscious of the happenings around her. Hands were clasped limply in her lap, like a mannequin doll whose strings had been cut. James could have danced naked in front of her and she wouldn't have even blinked.

James was never surer that that was not the Lily he knew.

The crowd's excited murmurings ceased and eased into a deathly silence, a calm before the storm that would inevitably come. The wicked sneers widened as a familiar face popped into view and ascended the wooden stage.

Daniel Vargas stood there, his face no less pleased than everybody else's.

"Brothers," he started, lifting his arms, "you know why we are here."

The boys laughed terribly, as though Vargas had said something very witty and clever. It was a knowing laugh that sent chills down James' and Sirius' spines. Vargas waited patiently for the laughter to disperse. James knew full well that this was possibly the only occasion where Vargas would let the Lupi members get away with interrupting him. This was a celebration. James' fists clenched.

"This," continued Vargas, "is a momentous occasion. Too rarely are we allowed to deal just desserts to those undeserving of life…" A roar of agreement followed that pronouncement, showing that the Lupi members only sympathized with those words too well. James' and Sirius' lips simultaneously curled.

"But now we are rewarded by our patience, and at last we have begun to cleanse our world of filth." The hidden teenager's eyes widened.

The word "filth" was obviously a cue, for at that time, the crowd began cheering madly. Several boys in the crows parted to let some burly members through, all of which were violently ushering along a fiercely struggling figure. Sirius and James didn't need confirmation before their feet swiftly stole around the perimeter and, with a feline grace, silently up the stairs leading to the gallows.

They already knew, but it was a sick confirmation when they saw Remus being dragged, bound and gagged, up to the mouth of the wooden beast. Although he could not speak, he was fighting viciously, lashing out with heavy boots at all he passed by. His wand obviously having been taken away, he could do little harm to those out of reach, but he kicked savagely at anybody he could.

He stumbled as they shoved him up the steps and tripped, falling face-first on the planks with a grunt of pain. The great big brutes that had been 'escorting' him up there kicked him hard in the stomach. From their spots, James and Sirius could see the scars on Remus' face from previous maltreatment.

A hot surge of anger sparked in the boys' blood. Blinded by fury, both wanted desperately to get up and pummel the hell out of Vargas and the boys who were kicking Remus, but a shred of common sense warned them not to make a move quite yet.

Remus managed to get up and was forced to mount the tiny precipice behind Vargas where a foreboding noose hung waiting for him. Remus fought all the harder.

Vargas watched the struggle idly, strangely ignoring the delighted jeers from the crowd. Normally he would have quieted them long before, but Vargas himself was wearing a look of hungry anticipation the mirrored the rest of Lupi's. It was not the cool, calm, and collected look of a predator, but rather a savage animal.

Vargas smiled and turned back. "We are aware that this is normally a Muggle form of execution," he said. His voice was thinner and readier than normal, too, but still contained the mocking, self-possession it always did. "However, as _werewolves are as much of filth as Muggles themselves, we thought it appropriate."_

James frowned, although he was still seething with anger. "_We?" he whispered to Sirius. "He never says that."_

Sirius bared his teeth. "This is a 'momentous occasion'," he grated, echoing Vargas' previous words. "Normal rules don't apply."

Peter thundered through the halls, heart pounding against his rib cage; threatening to burst right out of his chest. But he could not stop running. He shoved haunting images of what might be happening just then out of his mind and concentrated on finding McGonagall's office.

He turned a corner and slammed headfirst into someone rounding the bend at the same time. Peter teetered but kept his balance. The other person, however, was not so lucky and toppled, falling ungracefully to the floor.

Micker Linguini glared at him balefully from his spot on the floor. "Watch where you're going, you great big oaf," he snapped, hopping up and brushing himself off. He wasn't much taller standing than he was sprawled on the floor. He puffed his chest out menacingly. 

"Sorry," Peter huffed, and started to go around, but was stopped but a tiny foot lashing out. Peter couldn't stop and tripped, throwing his hands out in front of him to break the heavy fall. He grunted with pain as he made very solid contact with the stone floor. He looked angrily at Linguini for an explanation.

Micker was twirling his short, stubby wand, completely unconcerned. "Whoops," he said lazily, attempting a deep voice. "What's your hurry?" He carried a dangerous tone. Peter thought quickly while getting up and making sure his wand was in easy reach.

"Handing a late essay in," he said.

Micker squinted in what he hoped was a very intimidating manner. "Doesn't look like that."

"Of course not, I've stopped!" And with that, Peter took off running again. This time, a blue light wrapped around his legs and again Peter came crashing to the ground. His wand clattered against the stone. 

"Why'd you do that?" he demanded.

Micker leaned down. "Don't want you slipping anything to the Professorhead," he said simply. "Don't want a little birdie telling him about our plans."

"What plans?" Peter asked, feigning innocence and struggling against his bonds. Micker laughed harshly.

"Don't play dumb with me, Porky. You never have to fake it." Micker paused. That would be a good line for his book. He hastily tore the notebook out and scribbled the insult in it before putting it back inside his coat. Peter stared.

"I'm not doing anything," he repeated. 

"Yeah right," Micker said. "I saw you come tearing out of the entrance at warp speed." Unbeknownst to the other Lupi members, he was very fond of the Muggle show _Star Trek—a face that he wisely kept hidden. "I knew exactly what you were doing."_

Micker sneered and raised his wand. "Now it's your turn to have an accident, Porkchop."

With lightning reflexes that Peter didn't even know he had, he snatched up his wand and before Micker—who was even worse at dueling than Peter himself—could utter a single curse, Peter cried "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Micker's body froze. His legs snapped together and his arms stuck to his side. The only things moving were his eyes that were wide with shock and anger. 

Peter briefly felt a euphoric relief at having beaten him in so little time—or hell, having gotten him at all—before sharp footsteps could be heard rounding the corner that Micker had come around. Peter looked up as Professor McGonagall appeared, anger and then surprise on her face.

Peter struggled up—which was difficult, seeing as how his legs were still bound together—and said breathlessly: "Professor—you have to come. Where's the headmaster?"

Meanwhile, Vargas was pausing for good effect, for some reason, relishing the attention focused on him like never before. "It is ironic," he said musingly, "that our House symbol is a wolf, and it is a werewolf that we first eliminate. But there is a reason for that.

"Wolves are intelligent, swift, and dangerous—as are we." Many heads nodded. "We are wolves in mind, for we possess those qualities. But this half-breed, this…mutant, mutt; he is wolf also in blood. He befouls the human race with his foul stench. He is a hybrid, an unnatural bastard of sentiency and dumb beast—he cannot live. He cannot be allowed to pollute our way of living."

Behind Vargas, Remus was stone-faced, a stoic wall of no expression whatsoever. But James and Sirius could see his fists clenched, white-knuckled.

"We are this world's future," said Vargas, raising his hands once more. His voice took on a squeaky pitch that James had never heard before—a tone of excitement. "We are truly the elite; we will own the future and purge the undeserving." His hands shook fervently. The mass hung onto every word, hungry, craving for more.

"We shall wash away the filth and foul-blooded."

The crowd roared.

"We are the strong, the bold. We will kill anyone who stands in our way. We will be great. We shall hang the bloodied corpses of our enemies for all to see, starting with this mongrel." He pointed at Remus. Lupi bellowed, and several threw rotten foods that they had kept in anticipation for this event.

James tried to tear his eyes away for just one second, but he couldn't. It was horrifying; it was sick and wrong, but he just couldn't not look. It was like a bad accident—terrible, tragic, but fascinating. He was sick to his stomach and were he not torn between horror and trying to find a way to get Remus out, he would most certainly have thrown up. He could see no blood, but it was easily the goriest scene he had ever witnessed—this went beyond calling someone a Mud Blood; it was racism and hatred to the extreme, a brutal look at the most basic human savagery.

They were lynching a teenage boy.

The wild, blood-shot eyes waiting for the life to be squeezed out of the werewolf's face, the leering, snarling lips stretched in feral grins, was something that James, for as long as he would live, would never forget. It was the putrid stench of evil, and it filled his nostrils and overwhelmed his senses until it became ingrained in his memory and forced hot tears from his eyes. Beside him, Sirius was much the same. Neither boy could believe what they were witnessing and both were repulsed.

Vargas stepped up to Remus, who tried to kick but received a severe blow in the ribs, and easily slid the noose around Remus' neck. The boy tried desperately to fight, willing magic to come even with the absence of his wand, and managed to seriously burn Vargas' hand, but could not stop the thick, coarse rope from snaking around his throat and tightening. He was beyond fear; it didn't occur to him to be afraid, all he knew was that he had to take the bastard down with him…

James and Sirius slunk up behind the scaffold, only a few inches from Remus. Sirius leaned over and whispered into the boy's ear.

"We're here for you, buddy," he hissed. James worked furiously at the knot binding Remus' hands, and slipped him a wand that he'd swiped from a swaying Lupi member they'd passed. A smile passed over Remus' face as he heard the words and felt circulation returning to his fingers, and the smooth wand gliding into his hand.

Vargas frowned at the smile. "Come to accept your fate, have you?" 

Remus smiled more widely. "More than you know," he said, as he felt the noose being carefully untied.  Then the knot was undone, but it was at an angle where none other than the Marauders could notice.

Remus spoke again. "You know," he said amicably, "you guys should really wash this dungeon more often. I have a sensitive nose."

And with those parting words, James and Sirius quickly threw the Cloak over Remus.

Everyone gasped in shock and anger as their prize disappeared right in front of them. Vargas groped wildly at the spot where their captive had been, but his hands only caught fistfuls of air. 

The Marauders couldn't help themselves—on the count of three, they unleashed swift and powerful kicks into Vargas' family jewels. The Lupi leader doubled over in pain, hands grasping the injured area. Then the Marauders beat it out of there, away from the hands that tried to grab at the seemingly empty air.

"Get to the exit!" Vargas choked out.

The trio ran full out, the Cloak just barely covering them all, and were just to the door when ten members blocked their way. One member stepped on a corner of the Cloak and it fell off, revealing James, Sirius, and Remus.

The room was deathly silent.

The Marauders took out their wands and held them steadily.

Vargas stormed up through the silent crowd, fuming and still in pain. His eyes flashed with anger, a tangible wave of fury directed mostly at James. A malicious smile spread wickedly. "So we kill three birds with one stone," he said. The Marauders stood back to back, ready to fight.

Vargas' eyes narrowed. "Kill th—"

Before he could even finish his words, the three began fighting, Stunning and rendering unconscious at least a dozen boys in the blink of an eye, all in less than a second. More surged on them, quickly recovering from the sudden shock, and unleashed every nasty curse they knew, trying desperately to kill them.

Instead, in their fervor, their shots rebounded off of each other. Six boys dropped dead of fire from their own peers.

Vargas managed to get a clear shot at James, who was physically fighting off two burly boys trying to wrestle his wand away. He viciously kicked them and looked up to see Vargas scream the words "_Avada_ Kedavra!_" An acid green light lanced out from his wand. James, reflexes honed and sharpened by years of Quidditch, ducked. The light struck one of the boys he'd been fighting square between the eyes. The boy fell in a heap, dead before he could even register surprise. He wasn't any more than fourteen years old._

James couldn't allow himself to feel horror before whipping his wand up, so fast it was a blur, and shouting out "_Avadra_ Ked—_ "_

 He stopped as Lily Evans planted herself between his wand and Daniel Vargas. He paid dearly for his sudden hesitation as a blow rocked his head. He saw stars, and something trickled into his eyes. Blood.

Vargas laughed. He laughed, and his words could be heard over the roaring crowd. "It's called the Dementor Curse," he called, raising his wand enough to hover it above Lily's shoulder; the coward he was, using her as his human shield. "It's was invented by Lupi's very founder. Very useful!" 

And again, Vargas yelled the Killing Curse.

But he made the mistake of looking over Lily's shoulder. Faster than the blink of an eye, James' wand snapped up and he yelled "_Reverso__!"_

A shimmering shield enveloped his wand, and the curse hit it and bounced off, James straining with effort to keep the immensely difficult spell up, sweat shining on his face and neck. Vargas was unsuccessful in shoving Lily back in front of his person, but did manage to duck. The beam hit Darby Magar and the boy fell listlessly down to the ground. Shiloh Shanks was nowhere to be seen—was he among the already fallen?

Vargas and Lily disappeared behind a veritable wall of human flesh, pressing in on the Marauders, who were still back to back fighting to the death. They yelled curses and physically fought off attacks, coughing up blood when particularly hard blows struck them.

James knew with absolute certainty that he was going to die. But he would take the bastards down with him.

Blow after blow, curse after curse rained down on him. James could feel his brain shutting down. It was dying. His injured arm would no longer move at all. It was not severed again—his brain was, it wasn't functioning anymore…

He could feel his heart slowing down, the beats farther and farther apart. Shadow demons invaded his vision. He kept fighting.

Beside him, Sirius and Remus were also weakening, although their brains were still alive, still alert, still searching for a way out…

James staggered. He looked dully up where a boy had his wand leveled with James' eyes. In his dying mind, James remembered who it was…Richard Lox. A Ravenclaw. He'd been in Arithmancy with this boy…had laughed with him…

But now Richard's eyes were cold. He opened his mouth.

And a bright light surged through the room, blinding those that were still alive. Richard was knocked to the ground. James looked blearily, with double-vision, as a vaguely familiar form was silhouetted in the light…the comforting light…James stumbled again. His heart slowed some more.

The man yelled something, and every boy there dropped his wand. James dimly felt his own slipping out of his hand as though an unseen hand had yanked it from his grasp, and settled with a heavy weight to the floor. James sort of stared at it, beyond pain, eyes clouding.

The wizard said more words, and a tangible shield formed itself around the battered Marauders. James barely saw it. It was sort of pretty. Why couldn't he fall? He wanted to…to lay down…and sleep…he was so tired…

Through hazy vision he looked up again, everything going darker. In the shadows he saw the boys he'd been fighting silently pick up their wands. They had lost. There was an impregnable shield around the Marauders and around the wizard himself. Lupi was gone, done for.

Without a word, each member pointed their wands at their throats grimly. The wizard hissed sharply, realizing what they were doing, telling them to stop, but before he could knock their wands away again, the boys said in a quiet, monotonous voice, each one in harmony with the others:

"_Avadra__ Kedavra."_

And together, they crumpled to the ground, except for Lily, who blinked as though coming awake from a deep sleep, looking in bewilderment and dawning horror around the room full of bodies.

James managed a smile before his last shred of life was cut and he too, sank to the ground.

Last chapter next.


	12. Alabaster Finale

And here's the last chapter. It's been a good run :)

I was actually toying around with the idea of leaving this last chapter until after my vacation, but decided that I couldn't possibly be that mean. Well, I could be, but I'm in a good mood :) 

This chapter is brought to you by you, the reviewer, because without all your encouraging comments, I probably would not have finished.

Mm, Zetta? Good questions—yes, you would think that they'd have gone to get help first, but for all they knew, Remus might be already dead. They figured they couldn't waste any time. And if anybody can cast that killing curse, it'd be boys that practice dark arts everyday, or really smart and talented ones. Perhaps not the best reasoning, now that I give it a fourth thought. Thanks for giving such insightful reviews! I always looked forwards to hearing from you :)

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_Shameless Plug: Right after __Washington__, I'll be bringing you some brand spanking new stuff!_

And oh—there's an eensy bit of Christianity in the first paragraph. Don't like it: you don't have to read it. :)

The House of Wolves

Last Chapter

It was cloudy and hazy. He wondered briefly if he was in heaven, or just on his way there—he didn't see any golden light quite yet; no pearly gates were greeting him. Everything was a little cloudy, including his mind, which could do nothing but wonder just where those pearly gates were. He wondered what he was going to say when he met Him. It was a strange thought to be meeting Him so young, not having had quite enough time to grow out of his awkward years.

After what seemed like an eternity, a light did emerge from the fuzzy gray shadows, but it wasn't golden. It was blindingly white, so white that it was uncomfortable and made his eyes sting and a pounding headache settle in his head. It was not a pleasant glow, but rather a harsh light that assaulted his senses and made him wish that he was back in the fog.

Distorted shapes swirled in and out; memories flashed by of that horrible scene; he tried to close his eyes and mind to them, but they invaded both and haunted him…and then they were gone, and blurry, solid forms took their place.

James blinked his eyes again as the room came slowly and painfully into focus. His eyes stung and burned as though looking straight into the sun, so bright was the room's light. In reality, it was rather dim, but was nonetheless almost impossible to bear and made his head dizzy.

But he was dead, he was sure of it. He had watched himself die. It hadn't hurt really; he had been beyond pain and went with a sort of peaceful security. Yet he was sure that he had not survived that battle, but he didn't seem to be approaching any celestial city quite yet. 

In fact, his surroundings looked rather like…a hospital room.

Reality hit with a sudden unpleasant thump and James tried to groan. The best he got was a slightly heavier exhalation. He experimented with moving, and found that his body was so stiff and sore that it was quite difficult. He tried wiggling the fingers on his left arm, the one that had been separated, it seemed like years ago that it happened—and found that other than being nearly mummified with aching muscles, it otherwise responded to his commands.

But Pomfrey had said that it would be about two more days before…good Lord, how long had he been out?

James tried forcing open his eyes again. They were met with the same white glare as before, but he stubbornly kept them open until the light was more bearable. He chanced looking around, getting dizzy by his efforts. Shapes came into focus.

Remus was staring off into space, his face drawn and tired and looking older than ever. Peter was sitting next to him, clearly distraught and with red eyes.

Sirius was in a corner, his head in his hands.

James suddenly realized that he was hungry. And he was thirsty. And he had to pee like a hippogriff.

And an absurd thought came to him—how best to let his friends know that he was awake?

James shrugged as best he could with his butt engraved into the mattress. Slowly and tunelessly, he began to sing "Yankee Doodle" backwards and in Chinese. The result was roughly like a chicken with stomach pains.

The reaction was instantaneous—Remus abruptly woke up from his silent gazing, Peter hiccupped and stared at James.

Sirius' head snapped up. His eyes were not red, but his face was pale and sick.

As one, they rushed to James, who sat up, thankfully without too much difficulty. The pounding in his head ceased little by little and everything became sharper and clearer. 

"I believe I was dead," he said conversationally. 

"You were," Remus said seriously.

"This isn't a séance, is it? Don't tell me it was a séance. I don't believe in those."

Remus shook his head, a smile creeping up on his weary face. "No. You died…for about thirty seconds. Dumbledore gave your heart a jolt to start it beating again." The words sounded surreal to Remus, as though someone else was saying it.

James had nothing to say to that. His breath was cut short as he was abruptly hugged by a teary Peter.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered, quickly pulling away. James patted him awkwardly on the back.

"Er—now, now, uh, don't get weepy. People freak me out when they get weepy." Peter nodded and James grinned. 

His attention was then turned to Sirius, who was still sitting in a corner, his eyes hollow, still haunted. He looked old.

Sirius stared at nothing. His confidence was sorely shaken, even now with it all over.

_Dumbledore came in a flash of bright light, brandishing a wand as the Lupi members dropped their own. Another word, and a bright shield wrapped around the Marauders, who all blinked at the sudden turn of events. Their eyes were transfixed at the scene before them. McGonagall was beside Dumbledore, her wand raised and steady._

_They braced themselves as the cult followers picked their wands back up. Sirius raised his own again, ready to fight. But he and Dumbledore were protected with an impenetrable spell. Lupi knew it. Defeat rang in their eyes and faces. They knew they were beaten. It was all over for them; they would go to Azkaban for the rest of their lives. Their dreams were completely ruined. There was no more Lupi. _

_Sirius watched in horror and fascination as they raised their wands to their own throats. He knew what they were going to do before they even said the words; so did Dumbledore, he tried to stop them, but was too late. Sirius said nothing, did nothing to try and make them stop. It was useless anyway._

_"Avadra Kedavra._"__

_Thirty-nine boys fell to the floor, to join the other eleven that had already died from crossfire and were bleeding on the ground, rusty red blood staining the stone and creeping into the very foundation. Thirty-nine boys committed suicide, afraid to face the consequences of their own damned stupidity. The cowards they were. Sirius felt another hot stab of anger at their gutless action; the ultimate mark of weak cowardice._

_Lily stood among the fallen bodies. A light was flicked on in her mind and she blinked, like coming out of a coma. She stared around at the bodies, stumbling in shock as she did, her hand closed over her mouth. A sick look passed through her eyes and she doubled over as though with stomach pains, but it was a horror that she could not define. She knew but did not know how it all came about; she did not witness it in her right mind, but could replay the battle like it had been a dream._

_She remembered striking Remus, but did and did not do it. She had no self then, under the curse; she knew only what her Leader told her, and adopted his orders as her own desires, forming her personality to echo his wishes. He wished for her to bring Remus, and then she wanted nothing more than to do that._

_But now, as she realized what she had done, she sank to the floor with tears silently streaming down her face, staring around at the corpses that stared with open, vacant eyes that were as those sewn onto a doll; seeing but not seeing, there but lifeless. She tried to shut her eyes and force out the image, but it was still there in her mind. It would always be._

_A gentle, smooth hand gently guided her chin back up. Dumbledore was there, smiling kindly. "It's not your fault."_

_Lily nodded miserably, and her eyes settled on Remus, Sirius and James. Remus smiled, also kindly, reassuring her that indeed she wasn't to blame. Sirius wasn't looking at her, but rather the bodies, with a horrible sort of fascination, staring at them and beyond them._

_James had a small smile on his face. Lily's eyes widened. James was swaying, bleeding profusely from his head and chest, a blanket of blood coating his body and soaking his clothes. There was no agonized pain on his face, just a peaceful smile, contended and secure, and he slowly sank and fell to the tomb's floor, falling limply onto the crypt-cold stone floor._

_Lily cried out and stumbled to her feet. Remus and Sirius followed her tearing gaze to James, lying lifelessly on the floor. They rushed to his side, and Lily, through swimming eyes, saw his chest rise one last time and finally stop. Sirius staggered back as Remus felt for a pulse, cursing profusely as there was none. Lily let out a dry sob._

_In a flash Dumbledore was kneeled by the fallen boy, cradling his head and listening intently. McGonagall was at a loss, hand clasped over her own mouth, eyes wide and disbelieving. _

_James was gone._

_It was surreal. Lily felt like a limb was cut off. James was a rock, something that everyone thought would always be there, cracking jokes even when he was bleeding and in pain. He was a solid foundation, something someone could always lean on when they were weak—and yet Atlas had fallen._

_Sirius stood back. He did not cry. He did not rush to James, nor did he deny his brother's death. But his face was ashy and pale, haunted, as though he too had died internally with James. He was an empty shell, devoid of thought or emotion. _

_Lily had felt that a limb was cut off—Sirius' soul was ripped in two._

_Dumbledore had an annoyed look on his face as he stubbornly leveled his wand with James' chest. He prodded it gently._

_Spasms ripped through the dead boy and he convulsed, his back arching. He let out a tremendous gasp as air flooded back into his lungs and his heart woke up, but he did not wake. Sirius watched blankly, looking with unseeing eyes._

_James' chest rose and fell, rose and fell. Color crept back into the deathly pallor that had greedily claimed his handsome features for a precious few moments. His pulse was active again._

_Lily let out another sob, this one from relief. Remus rocked back on his heels, eyes closed and lips moving silently, chin tilted towards the heavens. Lily, too, closed her eyes and looked up, sending her thanks in a silent, powerful wave. _

_McGonagall had by then recovered and conjured up a stretcher. Remus and the headmaster gently lifted James onto the stretcher. Sirius still said nothing, but followed them out to the entrance where Peter stood, having watched the scene with horror. _

_Sirius paused, looking down and back at the grisly scene behind him, and then closed his eyes and shoved away the cold fingers that had clamped around his heart for those wrenching thirty seconds. He followed up the stairs._

Sirius stared blankly at James, who knew immediately what his brother felt. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Sirius. It was the first word he'd spoken for the past two days.

"You know what, Sirius?"

"What?"

"I have got to pee something awful."

Sirius blinked and the words registered, and a smile, faint, ghostly, but still there, appeared. "I'd imagine," he said.

"I have got to go like a hippogriff."

"Like Snape when he wets himself whenever he gets caught crossdressing."

"Like the Slytherin team when they have to play us in Quidditch."

"Like Remus whenever he has to speak in front of the class."

"So go already," said Remus, sighing, but smiling also. The battle seemed decades ago…this was now, this was real. It was like it had always been. Peter blinked and grinned at the familiar, nonsensical exchange of words. James shrugged and swung his feet out of the bed, testing them on the ground before standing up. He briefly looked down.

"I'm wearing a dress," he said simply.

"A hospital gown," said Remus.

"A dress," said James stubbornly, securely holding the gown in place so his derriere wouldn't taste fresh breeze. After all, Lily wasn't there. Speaking of Lily…

"Hey—is Lily—"

"She's fine," Remus said. "It was some curse controlling her—I guess that when whoever cast it…died…the curse was lifted. She didn't even know where she was." He hesitated before mentioning her current mood—best to leave it for later, when James had rested a bit.

He just didn't want to tell him the other thing…

James sagged in relief, and tottered off to the loo before Pomfrey could spot him and make him use the bedpan.

A few hours later, James was still sitting in the hospital room. He had come to loathe the place over the last few days—it smelled strongly of disinfectant and various potions, and there was absolutely, absolutely nothing to do.

It was better this time, though, because his friends were there. Even though it was a Saturday, they probably would not have been allowed to keep him company had not they suffered injuries as well, although Sirius whispered that they were milking it out a bit so they could stay longer.

James was still full of questions that everybody was hesitant to answer. He despised the topic as much as anybody—who wanted to remember all that?—but not knowing left him a little frustrated.

"What are they going to do about…you know…the bodies?" He asked over a game of chess.

Sirius took his rook but did not answer. 

"They're going to give them back to their parents and tell them the truth," said Remus, shrugging. "That's what the headmaster said. He thought it wouldn't help to hide it; he's already told the school…"

James nearly dropped his bishop. "What?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "Told them all about it. He didn't tell them anything about Remus, though," he added. "They left us out of it—the story went something like: Dumbledore found out about the cult somehow and he and Professor McGonagall went down there…he didn't mention us at all, I don't know how, but nobody questioned him.

James nodded. "Good…" He shook his head, amazed that it was all over.

"I can't believe they did it," he murmured. "They weren't under a spell? How can so many guys just kill themselves like that?"

"Just like you said," muttered Sirius darkly, "they were nuts. Insane. Killing themselves so they wouldn't go to Azkaban…they weren't under a spell, Prongs, they were cowards."

James looked at him cryptically. "You really think that?" he asked, watching.

"Yes—they were blind sheep, James, they were lemmings." He said this without any trace of humor. "They followed their leader and he led them right off a cliff."

"Without jumping himself," Remus sighed. James gave him an odd look, having a bad feeling about what he was going to hear.

"What don't I want to know?" he asked guardedly.

Remus didn't meet his eyes, clearly not wanting to answer the question. "A search was done among the…bodies," he said. "Vargas…Vargas wasn't among them."

James furrowed his brows, attention completely abandoning his game. "That…what? I saw him kill himself—oh." He realized, and slammed a fist into the mattress. "Damn!" he seethed. "The cowardly little bastard! I should have known! He wasn't acting like himself; didn't talk like he normally did, he was overexcited—Let me guess," he said nastily. "'Daniel Vargas' was Shiloh Shanks—no wonder I didn't see him in the dungeon!"

"They've been looking all over the countryside for Vargas," Peter said. "Nobody's caught him yet."

"Left his comrades to die," said Sirius. "Leader of lemmings."

James was in a thoroughly irritable mood and sourly moved his pawn. He sighed, just wanting to hear some good news; something that made his prolonged stay in that damned hospital room worthwhile. Worthwhile…he thought of red hair. Immediately he felt extremely bad—he had a pretty good idea of what was probably running through the redhead's mind. She had been used and abused—she'd been forced to do things she didn't want, both to the Marauders, and maybe forced to do things in the dungeons for the leering boys…

James had a white-knuckled grip on his queen. 

A few days later, when James had managed to force his way out of the hospital room by clever words against the nurse's sputtering protests, he went searching for Lily. People were thumping him on his back, telling him they hoped he and his friends felt better after that nasty accident they had with experimenting on that potion…James just smiled weakly and didn't wince as their hands clapped particularly sore spots.

He searched with all of her friends, none of which had spoken to her recently. "She's gone all mopey ever since you boys had your potions accident," one girl said, winking. "We think she fancies you."

Somehow James, though he would always say otherwise, doubted this.

He finally found the redhead sitting on a snowy knoll outside the grounds, on a big rock in a secluded corner with a great willow tree hanging protectively over her. James ambled over discreetly, knowing that she knew he was there, but walking quietly just the same. He stopped a few feet behind her, and looked out over the grounds. People were outside, enjoying the gorgeous winter day, hurling snowballs where the sun didn't shine.

"Nice day," commented James. Lily nodded mutely. James came over.

"Mind if I grab a bit of rock?" he said pleasantly. Lily shrugged and scooted over. James eased himself down and grinned at the minute figure of Largo Ingles who had just managed to impale Terry with a barrage of snowballs. The Head Boy sputtered and yelled, and tried to throw some back.

It was a comfortable silence between them for James. He had no doubt what Lily was thinking and wanting to say, so he waited patiently for her to speak.

Five minutes later, she did, with severe hesitancy: "I'm sorry."

James didn't have to ask what she meant. "I'm not going to accept your apology, Lily, because there's nothing to apologize for."

"There is. I led them to knowing that…that Remus is a…werewolf."

"Does it bother you?" The answer suddenly mattered to him.

"Of course it does," Lily said, not looking at him. James sighed, but Lily continued. "It bothers me that such a terrible thing could happen to such a good person. He doesn't deserve that, he's never done anything to anybody…"

James smiled, relieved. "That's why he's got us," he said.

Lily finally adopted a ghost of a smile, and she nodded, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. James hesitated a moment before speaking again. "It's not your fault," he said. "Remus has already blubbered about how sorry he is for being a werewolf and making me nearly—well, making me get killed—" Not the best choice of words… "Peter's already apologized over and over about joining in the first place. Don't you start up on me."

Lily nodded again, and seemed to breathe easier. James had no doubt that it had plagued her ever since…the incident, and he knew how she felt…privately, he blamed himself for Remus almost getting lynched, but forced the delusion away.

They sat in silence, watching the fiercely escalating snowball fights. Largo had managed to commandeer a small army of first-years and was leading them with whooping battle cries, merrily flinging row after row of snowballs. The first-years giggled and did what they were told—Largo knew fully well that Terry would never hit underclassmen.

"He's a basketcase," James said, watching. Lily nodded, her smile a bit wider.

It was strange to think of one of the only positive things had had come out of the whole situation. Two weeks ago, he never thought that he would be sitting there with a girl who had then despised him. And now, he was the one comforting her, smiling and joking with her. 

Largo let out a particularly confusing battle cry.

The pair grinned as the first-years, now hopelessly lost, began pelting each other with snowballs in response. Largo chortled and skipped off to convince Terry's small army to mutiny.

James began to laugh. Lily looked sideways at him. He really does have a nice laugh, she decided, when he's not laughing at the wrong things. She considered him for a moment, looking at him like she never had before; appraising him, and finally making up her mind.

James noticed her gaze and gave her the fish eye. "What?"

"James," said Lily pleasantly, with the air of cradling a large bomb—James loved that—"On the next Hogsmeade trip, would you like to get a butterbeer?"

James' mouth worked like a fish. "You're asking _me_?" he said, dumbfounded. 

Lily raised an elegant eyebrow. "Something wrong with that?" she asked. 

"No, no," said James hurriedly, stumbling over his words. "Nothing wrong at all." He wondered briefly what had changed Lily's mind—oh, who knew, he could never figure out girls; one day they wanted to dropkick you off a cliff, the next they wanted a butterbeer…he had to admit, though, it was a pleasant surprise…

James blinked and smiled as Lily turned her attention back to the snowball fight, where Largo was being unmercifully walloped with snowballs from both sides.

They sat there, watching.

All in all, it was a happy day.

_The End_

All right! The end :) I had fun with this. 

First off, I have to apologize: this is my first MWPP story, and my very first story with more than four chapters. This may be shorter than most fics, but to me it was bogglingly long, so being as long as it was to me, I was bound to make a few errors and mistakes. If you see any, sorry :) I haven't quite gotten the hang of many-chaptered stories just yet.

Secondly, does it bother you that I had so many original characters? I tried to give each of them a distinct personality to make them blend into the story and seem like they belong—I hate it when an author simply puts in a name and doesn't give them a persona; I tried to be creative. Largo's a nut who loves chaos, Terry's a Head Boy that desperately tries to be mature but can't help giving into occasional temptations; Micker's a midget with an ego that tries to make up for what he…er, hasn't got, and Wossy's a complete basketcase of nerves. I try to make them fit. If you don't think I did a very good job of that, please inform me of where I went wrong. :) Thank you kindly.

Well, kids, adios—I'll have more up soon; I'm having fun with this next story I'm writing. Off I go to Washington. :)


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